


wonderment

by iriswests



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, so cheesy it's probably not good for you if you're lactose intolerant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 68,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27077758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswests/pseuds/iriswests
Summary: Isak Valtersen has a reputation to uphold. It’s the only way to keep his father’s name out of the nosy townspeople’s lips, and it’s the only reason why he humors Emma Larzen’s interest in him. When her patience in their relationship starts to wear thin, however, she demands the impossible from Isak: a fallen star, to solidify their engagement.This starts an unprecedented venture beyond the mysterious wall that borders their town, and he discovers that stars are not celestial rocks. They’re beautiful, bright, well-spoken men, and so their venture to Isak’s home — now burdened by witches, pirates, and bloodthirsty princes — might be a little more than he initially bargained for.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 58
Kudos: 164





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> oh, hello. long time no see. you could say it’s been years.
> 
> (it has.)
> 
> first of all, if you don’t follow me on social media and are wondering why the hell i just posted 60k’s worth of a completely different work that isn’t tmtts, i suggest you read [here](https://twitter.com/juilawicker/status/1269681235296694277?s=20), and then proceed to [here](https://twitter.com/juilawicker/status/1270198631396790272?s=20) if you want to know more about the ending you want. i love you.
> 
> second of all, welcome to the stardust au that’s been in the making for years! you heard that right. i stopped this at around 50k, picked it back up again, then just recently came back to it and rewrote/edited some stuff and here we are. i was not going to make this a WIP for y’all, so i made sure to finish it and here it is. all in one go. i hope you enjoy.
> 
> this is based off the movie, not the book, so don’t look for easter eggs of the book. also, it’s ridiculously fantastical and cheesy and you know what? sometimes we just need that.
> 
> bonus points to anyone who can pinpoint the sharp contrast between when i stopped writing it and when i picked it back up again. 
> 
> i love y’all. this will be, to be honest with you, probably the last piece of skam content i’ll be putting out. stick around for the closing notes to follow me on my next endeavor!
> 
> enjoy!

All of Isak Valtersen’s life, for however short it might be up until now, he’s had only three questions he’s never found an answer to:

The first has always been for his father, regarding his mother: _Where is my mother?_ He’ll ask, and his father will always reply, _far away._

When Isak was younger, he was convinced this meant his mother did not want him. His father would assure him this was not the case.

“She loved you very much,” he’d say.

So then he became convinced his mother was dead. His father would dispute this fact, as well – albeit a little less enthusiastically.

“I don’t think she is,” he’d say. “I don’t _feel_ that she is.”

Even as a young boy, Isak thought this answer was, to put it simply, a cop-out. Still, his father would not waver in his stance: he’d refuse to let Isak think his mother was dead, but he also refused to let Isak think his mother was close.

Isak would then change his question:

_**Who** is my mother? _ He’ll ask, and his father will always reply, _a beautiful princess._

And, well, as you can see, Isak still does not have an answer about his mother, because he does not know where she is, he does not know whether she’s alive, and Isak is sure she is most definitely not a princess. He feels like he would know.

The second has always been for the wall keeper: _What is beyond the wall that lines our town?_ He’ll ask, and the wall keeper will always reply, _a portal to another world_.

Isak still asks the question, and the wall keeper will never waver in his stance, either, just like his father, and Isak becomes increasingly annoyed every time thereafter.

“It’s a _field_ ,” Isak will insist, gesturing towards the endless pasture beyond the wall. “Do you expect me to believe there’s another _world_ past the damn wall?”

The wall keeper will frown at him, raise his cane and poke it against Isak’s stomach. “You are just like your father,” he’ll scoff, ironically enough. “Go on, I am guarding the portal.”

Isak will always turn around and make his way back into town, never finding a true answer to his second question, but never quite quieting his wonder, either way. One day, Isak will find out what truly lies beyond the wall. The day just hasn’t come yet, he supposes.

The third and final question has always been for the universe: _Is everything in life fated?_

And the universe, well. The universe can’t _really_ answer, so Isak’s not holding his breath on that one. Still, he has to wonder if they ever really have a choice in life; what has brought him here, what has separated him from his mother, what has left him with more questions than answers: was that a result of choice, or fate? If the former, whose? If the latter, why?

And Isak will sometimes ask these questions silently as he gazes up at the stars, basking in how large and seemingly endless the world seems to be, and he feels small, insignificant. Maybe everything _is_ fated. Maybe this is why he feels so small under the endless stars – because humans never truly have a choice.

He’ll gaze at the stars for hours and hours, until his stomach growls, and then he’ll stand from where he lies on an open field and he’ll make his way back home, slumped in the shoulders, tired in his walk.

Isak has been gazing up at the stars in wonder since he was a young boy.

Soon enough, he’ll find out that the stars may have always been gazing back.


	2. day one

Isak works at the local (and only) convenience store in town, so he’s kept busy at every moment, trying to minimize the line. This means he hardly has a chance to chat with his best friend and coworker, Jonas, even though the both of them truly do try.

The shopkeeper will scold them every time he sees them chatting while they’re gathering the townspeople’s requested supplies, and the both of them will do nothing but snicker, then wait for the shopkeeper to retreat into the small back room and continue to chat.

“Hey,” Jonas taps Isak’s knuckles as Isak is hunched over, busy wrapping up a woman’s requested chocolate. “Heard the rumors yet?”

Isak knows Jonas knows he hasn’t, else he wouldn’t be asking. “No,” he sighs, having a hard time with the chocolate. “What are they this time?”

“Heard Mikael’s trying to fight you for Emma’s hand,” he raises both of his eyebrows, making them look thicker than they already are. Isak raises one of his own in return, finishing his wrapping and straightening his posture. Jonas is leaning casually against one of the shelves, _being no help at all_.

Isak turns back to the impatient woman waiting for her pound of chocolate and sugar. He sets them both on the counter, and tells said woman what her total will be. The woman takes her time fishing for coins from her pocket, because there’s only about twenty people in line behind her, so why _should_ she hurry up? Isak rolls his eyes, turning back to Jonas. “Where’d you hear that?”

“From Mikael himself,” Jonas replies, pushing himself off the shelf and looking at Isak with a Very Serious Expression. Isak levels him with an incredulous one of his own. Jonas shrugs. “Okay, from Magnus, who heard it from Mikael himself. Big difference.”

Isak and Emma have been – he supposes they’ve been a _thing_ , for a while now. Two years, to be exact. Although, can one really call it a _thing_ when they’ve only kissed a couple of times in the span of said two years and Isak tries his hardest to avoid her at every turn of the several ways across town?

The town certainly seems to think so. Emma, for all intents and purposes, is the richest, most beautiful girl in town – several men were tripping over themselves to be the one Emma chose as her lover, buying her flowers and drowning her in jewels and writing her the most beautiful poetry and singing her the loveliest songs. Why Emma chose to set her sights on Isak is beyond him – and beyond everyone else, apparently, because people sometimes _still_ insist Isak must have put a spell on the poor girl, even though magic is ridiculous and decidedly Not Real.

Isak snapped at her one fated day two years ago, not on _purpose_ , but because she was being incredibly rude to the rest of the customers in line, and she seemed to – enjoy that. Enjoy Isak snapping at her, that is. So from that day henceforth, she would find her way back into the shop, to bat her eyelashes at Isak and flirt with him loudly and extravagantly.

It made Isak squirm, and not in a good way.

But Isak’s not of great status – he’s a shop boy, for crying out loud, and arguably the poorest around, aside from maybe Magnus, who doesn’t seem to mind it very much. But Isak _does_ , because he _hears_ the whispers around town when he walks by them, he _hears_ what people have to say about his father and his motherless child and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like to think that he’s being insulted, much less his father’s honor – the man who raised him, the man who could have abandoned him and left him orphaned but didn’t – and he doesn’t like people paying too much attention to his misgivings, period. So when the whispers started to change from, _the poor boy_ to _the lucky chap_ , well, Isak clung to what he needed to cling to – and that turned out to be Emma.

Because if _Emma_ could see something in Isak, then the town decided they must certainly be missing something, and oh, maybe the poor boy isn’t _so_ bad.

Isak sighs loudly at Jonas, taking the offered coins from the woman’s hands. “He can, if he’d like,” he says, though Isak is not very good at fighting. “I don’t know how well that’d turn out, though.”

“For you, you mean,” Jonas’s grin is cocky. Isak narrows his eyes at him.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” he replies over Jonas’s snickers. “But he doesn’t have to _know_ that, does he?”

Isak waves the next customer in line over. He asks for salt, pepper, and a pound of chocolate. Isak _hates_ how much people in this town love chocolate. He finds it far too cloying for his liking, and _ridiculously difficult to wrap_.

He sighs and turns back to fish some chocolate out of the drawer, along with some brown wrapping paper.

Jonas reaches for the stool nearby to reach the top shelf. “You know how you could fix this?” he asks, stepping on the stool and grabbing two small flasks, one of salt, one of pepper.

Isak knows exactly how to fix this. He begins to wrap the chocolate. “Like I’ve told you, and _her_ , a thousand times, I’m looking for the perfect ring,” he says, looking at the chocolate, then unwrapping it completely to try and wrap it again. He hears the impatient groans of the customers behind him at the show. Isak purposely wraps slower. “I can’t just ask for _Emma Larzen’s_ hand in marriage with just any old ring, can I?”

Isak doesn’t see them, but he feels Jonas’s eyes roll. “You say that every time,” he scoffs. “Dude, you’ve been saying it for a year. If it’s not the ring, it’s just not the right time, if it’s not the right time, then it’s not the right place,” Jonas makes a weird sort of choked noise with his throat. Isak’s not sure what he’s trying to get at with it, but he accepts it nonetheless. “She’s going to get tired of waiting eventually.”

Isak’s hoping she does. Because if Emma doesn’t practically _force_ him to propose, Isak doesn’t think he has it in him to choose to do it himself.

A lifetime with Emma Larzen? Sounds like what hell would be made of if even the devil were afraid to go there. 

“If she truly likes me as much as she says she does,” Isak begins, because he can never bring himself to say the word _love_. “She’ll be okay with waiting just a little bit longer.”

He finishes wrapping the damn chocolate. He takes the two flasks from Jonas’s hands and places them on the counter along with the chocolate. After he tells the man his total, he turns back to Jonas, whose eyebrows are now furrowed.

“What?” Isak snaps irritably.

Jonas tilts his head. “Y’know, for someone who bagged the most beautiful girl in town,” Jonas starts, and Isak already feels the nerves swell at the pit of his stomach. “You know absolutely nothing about women.”

Oh, he’s telling Isak. He turns back to take the payment from the man’s hands, then waves the next customer in line over. “I know,” he mutters. “Trust me.”

He doesn’t turn to look at Jonas, because Isak knows what he’ll find in his expression – concern. And Isak just can’t deal with that right now. The next customer steps forward with a small child beside him.

“A dozen eggs, a bag of flour, and some chocolate for my boy.”

Isak sighs.

\--

He’s exhausted by the time nighttime falls and the shop closes. Jonas pats him on the back twice and bids him goodnight, walking towards the opposite side of town. Isak is wiping some stray flour from his shirt, looking downward as he begins to walk towards his own home, when something – or, rather, some _one_ – stops him in his tracks.

“Isak!” He’d know that pitched voice anywhere, Isak realizes, and his eyes widen of their own accord. He doesn’t _mean_ to step back, but it’s almost an automatic response at this point, and when he looks up to meet Emma’s gaze, she doesn’t seem bothered by it. It’s almost like she’s _used_ to it, and still doesn’t find it questionable.

Isak wonders how her mind works, and how many tricks it plays on her.

“Emma,” he replies tiredly. “What are you doing here? Isn’t it too dark to be out by yourself?”

Emma shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ve been waiting for you to get out of that dreaded shop all day,” Emma licks her lips and smiles. Isak pulls a face, but he tries to hide it with an awkward smile. “I’ve set up a picnic for us, did you know? Out by the field where you like to go sometimes.”

Isak knew he should have never told Emma about that spot. It was a moment of weakness (right – of _drunkness_ , mostly, so sue him) and he’s regretted it every day since then, because now she knows where to find him when he’s trying to hide from her. Isak sighs. “Have you,” he mutters.

Emma’s eyes darken for a moment, but it comes and goes so quickly Isak can’t really be sure. “Yes,” her smile is large. “Would you care to join me?”

Isak would care very little to join her, in fact. “Er,” he scratches the back of his head nervously. “I don’t know, Emma, I’m – really tired, it’s been – a long day in there, and I kinda just want to. Head to bed.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid, you can just lay your head on my lap and gaze up at the stars,” she raises an eyebrows. “You like doing that, don’t you?”

Yes, he does, but not with _her_. “Ah—”

“Then it’s settled,” Emma declares, walking up to Isak and wrapping her arm around his own. “We’re picnicking.”

Isak doesn’t feel like he has much of a choice at this point, so he lets himself be led to what was once his safe place, now contaminated by overtly sweet perfume and the memories of a shrill laugh.

\--

When they reach the field, Isak can’t help but take a moment to look up at the endless array of stars, scattered perfectly and endlessly across the sky. His lips involuntarily turn up at the corners, and his heart does the dumb thing it usually does when he realizes how small he is in comparison to all of the worlds, all of the fates, all of the stars.

Then Emma has to talk, of course. “These fucking mosquitoes,” she slaps at her arm. “I don’t understand their purpose.”

Isak thinks he deserves a medal for being able to resist rolling his eyes at her. He sits on the blanket she’s already set down before they arrived, not bothering to wait for her to sit first. He lies on his back, which has been killing him all day, and sighs in sweet relief at the feeling of softness derived from the grass on his back. His eyes close.

“There’s so many of them,” Emma interrupts the quiet, because of course she does. “How many stars do you think there are?”

“A shit ton,” Isak mutters, willing her to take a hint. “Just a shit ton of stars.”

“But if you had to guess a specific number,” Emma pushes. “How many?”

Isak opens one eye to look at her. She’s looking eagerly back. Isak closes the eye, and grunts. “I don’t know, a thousand?”

Emma scoffs. “Are you even trying?”

“Of course I’m not trying, Emma,” Isak’s hands, now under his head, clench irritably. “There’s no way to guess how many stars are up there. Maybe if I meet one I’ll ask it.”

He hears Emma sniff, but she doesn’t push the subject any further, for which Isak is grateful.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Emma begins after clearing her throat, and Isak feels what’s coming. He absolutely, positively—

“Oh, look!” Emma sounds excited now, and anything that makes Emma forget about the whole _engagement_ issue is something worth seeing for Isak. He opens his eyes and sits up, gaze following Emma’s raised finger towards the sky. “A falling star!”

It is, indeed, a falling star, and Isak watches in amazement at the beauty of it. In all of his years coming to this field and gazing up at the stars, he’s never once seen one fall. It’s amazing, to be witness to it, especially because when a star is falling, it seems to be so much closer to them than the ones scattered across the sky. Isak feels like he could almost reach out for it and take it for his own.

“That was pretty,” Emma sighs contently, and Isak bites his cheek in order to resist saying something else that’s rather snarky.

“Yep,” Isak says instead, leaning back on his hands. “Sure was.”

The silence between them could stretch for days.

“Okay,” Emma shifts her position on the ground to face Isak. “You know why I brought you here.”

Isak’s eye twitches. “Emma—”

“No,” Emma holds up her hands, now seemingly all business. “I have heard your excuses countless of times,” she snaps. Isak hates it when Emma snaps, because her voice is like a chill in the winter that won’t leave you, not even with a coat over your shoulders. “My parents are starting to ask questions.” She crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at Isak. Isak is having a hard time keeping her gaze. “Do you love me, Isak?”

Oh, no. Isak most certainly does not. But he can’t very well tell _Emma_ that, can he? Then the town will begin to ask questions and Isak – well, Isak doesn’t have the answers. Emma is beautiful (apparently) and every boy in town wants her and he should feel lucky, really, that she’s chosen to lie her affections with him.

“Isak!” Emma snaps once more, looking quite offended. “Stop thinking so hard about it.”

“Sorry,” Isak mutters. He still avoids the question, though. “But it’s like I’ve told you before, I’m just—”

“Yes,” Emma sniffs indignantly. “Looking for the perfect time, or the perfect place, or, most recently, the perfect ring.”

“Well,” Isak squirms. “I can’t give you—”

“Just anything, I know,” Emma’s lips are close to forming what looks to be a snarl. Isak’s a little alarmed. “All of this was cute at first, but now it’s taking a toll.”

“You’re telling me,” Isak mumbles.

“Stop doing that!” Emma throws her hands up in exasperation. “Stop muttering under your breath. Are you going to propose to me or not?”

Isak would very much want to not, thank you. “Eventually!” he feigns guilt, but feels only aggravation. “You can’t just rush things like these. You’re – y’know, you. Don’t you think you deserve something as beautiful as you?”

“Of course I do,” Emma rolls her eyes, and Isak doesn’t know why he’s even a little bit surprised. “But I also deserve something _soon_.”

Isak rubs at the bridge of his nose. This is impossible, he thinks. There is absolutely no winning with Emma. “And what could I possibly get you that’s both beautiful and soon?”

There is silence for a moment. Isak looks up at Emma warily, practically hearing the gears in her head turning. Maybe Isak shouldn’t have asked the question, now that he thinks about it.

Emma always has a fucking answer.

“A star,” she proclaims, and Isak looks at her incredulously.

“A star,” Isak deadpans in reply.

Emma nods vigorously. “The star that just fell,” she points in the direction of the sky, where they’d seen the star fall earlier. “It’s perfect. More beautiful than any ring you could possibly find, I assume. I want the star by my birthday next week, or I will accept Mikael’s offer for my hand and tell my father you have decided to terminate our relationship.”

And her father would not only hate Isak, he’d hate Isak’s father; and then he’d proceed to tell the entirety of the town, and then Isak’s family name would become taboo again, and then the questions, and then the whispers, and then—

Isak can’t believe Emma wants a fucking _star_. Out of all the outrageous, ridiculous things—

“Do we have an agreement?” Emma presses.

Does Isak have a choice? “Sure,” he shrugs. “I’ll get you the star as your engagement ring.”

Emma’s eyes shine. “My very own star,” she whispers, almost sinisterly. “I’d be the envy of every girl in town.”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “And engaged to me,” he reminds her.

“Yes, I guess that, too.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “If we’re done here,” he stands, wiping his hand on his pants. They’re now full of dirt and all of his broken dreams, apparently. “I should head back home. To bed.”

Emma frowns. “Aren’t you going to head out for the star?” she asks.

“What, am I not allowed to sleep beforehand?” Isak snaps. Emma looks offended, and Isak only feels a little guilty about it. She’s a little too much sometimes, Emma is. “I’ll head out first thing in the morning for your damn star, Emma. It’s fallen across the wall, anyway, I wouldn’t be able to get past it without coming up with a plan first.”

Emma sniffs, looks at her nails. “A week, Isak,” she reminds him. “That’s all you have.”

He _knows_ , for the love of all that is holy in this world. “I heard you the first time.”

Emma goes quiet, suddenly, and meets Isak’s gaze. Moments like these are rare in Emma – it’s what drew Isak to think that maybe she wasn’t all that bad, long ago, when he’d convinced himself he could love her. Her eyes are soft and they glimmer with anticipation. “We’ll be married soon,” she says. “Isn’t that exciting?”

Is the feeling of dread at the tip of Isak’s toes and the bile fighting to make way from his stomach to his throat excitement?

If so, Isak certainly is. If not, then Isak isn’t sure what he is.

But he lies anyway.

“Yes,” he replies, with a wry smile. “It is.”

\--

His father stares at him contemplatively from across the kitchen table. Isak’s doing his best not to squirm under the weighted gaze.

“So she wants a fallen star,” his father takes the words from Isak’s story, twists them into something more amusing than they have any right to be.

Isak shrugs.

“And you _want_ to get it for her?”

Isak shrugs again.

“Isak, your words,” his father presses, not unkindly.

“It’s what she wants,” Isak finally meets his father’s gaze. “Aren’t I supposed to get her what she wants?”

His father tilts his head thoughtfully. “Not if you don’t want to,” he reminds him. “I wouldn’t want you marrying Emma if it would make you unhappy.”

Isak scoffs. “I’m extremely happy,” he crosses his arms over his chest. “The happiest. You’ve never met a boy happier than me.”

Isak’s father looks amused, which only serves to irritate Isak further. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Isak snaps, sounding unsure.

“What do you think will happen if you don’t marry Emma?” his father asks. His voice is sincere and laced with concern.

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “Disgrace to our family name and all that jazz?”

Isak knows very well what he fears. He just doesn’t want his father knowing that, too.

“And why does that worry you so much?” his father asks. “The opinion of others, why does it weigh so heavily on you?”

Why is everyone intent on asking Isak questions he doesn’t have the answer to? “It doesn’t!” Isak exclaims, the lie ringing in both their ears quite clearly. “It doesn’t, alright, I just want – I _want_ to get married to Emma.”

His father looks at him. “For love,” it’s not a question, or, it’s not phrased like one, but it certainly feels like an especially prying one.

“Yeah, and stuff,” Isak says, ever so eloquently.

His father licks his lips. “You know I don’t care how much disgrace is brought to our family name so long as you’re happy?” he raises an eyebrow at Isak. “I don’t want you to marry for status, I want you to marry for love.”

If only Isak could be as selfless as his father. “I could love her,” he points out. “Eventually.”

They both let the lie hang between them tauntingly. Neither of them reaches out to catch it.

“Very well,” his father sighs. “If you’re so very intent on doing this, then there is something I must show you first.”

\--

Their attic is small, for the most part, but at least Isak’s able to sit cross-legged in it without worrying about his back too often.

It’s not comfortable, however, and certainly not comfortable enough for his father to be taking so long digging through the boxes he’s digging through.

“Is this going to take long?” Isak asks, voicing his discomfort through the tone of his voice. His father chuckles from where he sits, still ruffling through some boxes.

“Not if you sit and listen,” his father replies cryptically, as per usual.

Isak huffs and rolls his eyes, but says nothing else on the matter. His father hadn’t said anything after he told Isak he had to show him something, but to be fair, Isak hadn’t really pushed. He figures if this is one more thing that will prolong his star-hunting journey, then he can sit through it, as uncomfortably as he’s literally sitting through it now.

His father seemingly finally finds what he’s looking for, and Isak first thinks it’s a box, but it turns out to be a rather steep basket, blanket overlapping the handle. Isak frowns at it for a moment, his father placing the basket in front of them. The both of them stare at it for about a minute and a half, saying not one word.

“So,” Isak is the first to break the silence. “This is a basket.”

“Yes,” his father replies, defeated. “That it is.”

Isak waits for an explanation.

“I’m going to tell you about your mother,” his father begins slowly, as if testing the words. Isak’s head snaps up, gaze meeting the side of his father’s face. He is not looking at Isak, but rather longingly at the basket, as if the object was instead Isak’s mother, and not an item woven of straw. Isak says nothing; he doesn’t want to scare the prospect away – he’s never had this, never had the idea of a mother so close he could almost taste it. He’s always wondered, he’s always wished, but he never thought he’d see the day his father spoke about her.

“It may be – hard to believe,” his father continues after half a minute. “But I need you to keep an open mind about it.”

Isak nods, still afraid that if he speaks, the spell will be broken.

“Eighteen years ago, I traveled past the wall,” his father starts.

“You _what_?” Isak interrupts.

His father glares at him. “Would you care to listen, or not?”

Isak holds up a placating hand. “Sorry,” he mutters, only slightly sheepish of his actions.

“Eighteen years ago,” his father tries again. “I traveled past the wall. It was a hard feat, but I did it. The wall keeper, though younger then, was easier to fool in my time. He was trusting. No one had ever managed to slip past him and make way past the wall. But I suppose there is a first for everything – and I happened to be that first.

“I thought it a myth, what he used to tell me. He said the wall was a portal to another dimension, a different world, one we could never even imagine in our small town; I, curious but logical, never believed his claims. I was convinced he was hiding something beyond the wall – all I saw was a field of grass. Perhaps he hid his riches. Perhaps another town. Or, perhaps, he was just insane – he’s lived longer than anyone in the town, and no one really knows of his origins, so he could have just been a demented old man, babbling on about portals to different worlds in an attempt to cling to some sort of reality. In any case, I did not believe he lived in this one.

“I was right, for a moment – there was nothing but a roaring field of grass as I ran, and ran, and for that moment I thought the small sense of disappointment rising in me silly; I should have known better. I don’t know what I expected.

“But then,” Isak’s father looks straight into Isak’s eyes. Isak is completely wrapped up in the story – he doesn’t know about his surroundings any longer, he does not know about this reality. He’s suddenly eighteen years in the past, living through his father’s eyes, feeling his father’s anticipation. “I saw it.”

Isak’s lips pursed. He doesn’t want to speak, doesn’t want to pry, he wants his father to tell this story at his own pace; he also thinks if he speaks now, he’ll ruin the moment, the story, but he’s in dire need to know what happened next.

His father does not disappoint, however. He launches into the second part quite quickly.

“An entire town, just like I’d thought. Except – Isak, it was nothing like ours,” his father’s eyes are far away from here, and Isak wonders where they’ve gone. “It was brighter. Livelier. The night was alive and the people were strange-looking. There were small people with large ears, tall people with long fingers, witches performing cheap tricks in a small square, travelers selling miniature elephants and giraffes and lions. Magic, like you’ll never believe, like we’ve been taught is a fairy tale, all alive, and all very real in this entirely different world.

“The wall keeper hadn’t been lying, then. What he said was true. The wall was a portal to an entirely different world, of endless possibilities. Every story you’re told as a child, come to life. Magic. Trolls and giants. Living – in harmony, I suppose, though there was a class system I did not understand then, and I won’t pretend to understand now for the story’s sake. But from where I stood, everything seemed – normal for them. I would later find out the town was part of a kingdom – Stormhold, the kingdom was called. Stormhold.

“Nobody gave me a second glance. Nobody. I blended in seamlessly, even with my country boy clothes and obvious – _plainness_ , compared to everyone there. Everyone seemed to be far too busy in their own bubble to notice a newcomer like me. That, or they knew about the town beyond the wall – they knew about the things we didn’t know, things we were ignorant of. Maybe they knew of how ordinary our world was compared to theirs, so they did not care to visit, and they did not care to inform us of the truth. Either way, I was free to roam the small town, at the bottom of a hill, and then – I saw her.

“She took my breath away for an entire minute. I’d never – I _have_ never, seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life. Your mother. Blonde hair, as long as you can imagine it, only longer; bright, blue eyes that shone with warmth. She caught my gaze almost immediately and offered me the kindest smile you can imagine someone ever offering to you, and I felt my heart stop. My stomach flutter. I felt her smile in my _toes_ , Isak. And I knew – I knew I had to meet her right away.

“I approached her, stopped right in front of her cart of goods and asked her name. She didn’t give it to me, but instead, she asked if I saw anything I liked.

“Very much so,’ I replied, staring right at her. Her laugh was like – like the sound music makes, only far more melodic, far more enchanting. It was small, but it was present, and it would ring in my ears for years and years to come. I forget many things of my time across the wall, but her laugh – her laugh, I never forget.

“Still, bashful as I was, I tried to rectify the situation, pointing towards some blue glass flowers on her cart – tiny things, carved marvelously. They were nice, and I said as much. I asked her how much they would cost.

“Her town had the most peculiar currency. She said one would cost me the color of my hair, while the dozen would cost me all of my memories before I was three. I told her I could not remember anything before I was three. She told me that they were sometimes the most precious memories – and the reason most people didn’t think twice when exchanging them for goods.

“I was prepared to give up my memories if it bought me the flowers and more time with her, but she immediately stopped my train of thought. ‘The bluebells are useless for someone like you,’ she told me. ‘Don’t waste your memories on those. You should look into this one, instead.’ She picked up a small, glass flower. White. She called it a snowdrop, and it was the only one on her cart. ‘One of a kind,’ she told me, eyes staring into my own. ‘Guaranteed to bring you luck so long as you carry her with you.’

“She could have convinced me a dead rat could bring me luck and I would have bought it. But the flower was nice,” Isak’s father pauses to rummage through the basket. Isak’s a little disoriented, having lost himself in the story. “Looked a lot like this.”

Isak’s father holds up a small crafted flower, made of white glass, perfectly polished as if it hadn’t been stored away for eighteen years. Blinking wearily, Isak reaches out to take a hold of it, and his father allows him to.

“This—” Isak clears his throat. “This is the flower she sold you?”

His father smiles kindly. “That would be it,” he nods.

Isak cannot believe it – it had started to sound like any other children’s bedtime story, what his father’s been telling him, but now here he is, evidence in hand, Isak’s father sharing with him a small token of what might lie beyond the wall. He raises his gaze to look at his father, fingers stroking the small glass flower delicately. “What did it cost, though?”

Isak’s father smiles. “A kiss, she said. It would cost me a kiss.”

Isak wants to feel repulsed at the idea of this, but he can’t find it in himself – his father looks happy at the memory, looks lost in it, and Isak cannot begrudge any part of his story. He’s seen his father content, but never – never _glowing_ , the way he is now. Isak wonders if that’s what love looks like, and he wonders if he’ll ever allow himself to feel it.

“So I kissed her,” his father continues. “And she kissed me back. And when it was over, she looked around. I asked her what she was looking for. ‘The witch,’ she explained. ‘The witch that owns this cart.’ I asked her why she was looking for the witch.

“She looked at me, a little ruefully, and stepped away from the cart. I saw it immediately – a thin chain tied around her ankle. She was tethered to the carriage behind her, as if she couldn’t escape. ‘I’m a princess,’ she whispered to me. ‘I was tricked into being the witch’s slave. And if she is gone, then we might very well have the chance to kiss some more,’ she pointed towards the open doors of the carriage. ‘In there.’

“I very much wanted to, but not before trying to release her first. I leaned downward and reached for the chain, let it rest between my fingers. I reached for the pocket knife inside my coat and attempted to cut through the chain,” his father reaches for something else inside the basket. He pulls out a short, thin chain, like the one in his story, and lets it rest on his palm. “But this is all I managed to cut.”

Isak stares at the chain. “Can I—?” he reaches out for the chain. His father obliges, drops the chain into Isak’s palm quietly. It feels light, almost like air, in Isak’s hand. Cold, though.

“It was enchanted,” Isak’s father further explains. “She told me she would only be free until the witch died.”

“So if she didn’t want you to liberate her,” Isak furrows his brows in confusion. “What did she want in exchange for the flower?”

Isak’s father raises his eyebrow at him. “A kiss,” he repeats. Isak tilts his head.

“And…?” his father stares at him. “Why was she looking for the witch?”

Isak’s father rubs at his face. “Have you been paying attention?”

“Well, yeah,” Isak scoffs. “But you didn’t—” he stops in his track, mentally rewinding the story in his head. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Isak’s father sighs.

“Ew,” Isak wrinkles his nose. His father laughs.

“I know it’s not something you want to hear about,” he laughs quietly at Isak. “Considering the two… _contenders_. But let’s just – I will tell you this: making love, as opposed to having sex, is the most wonderful thing one can experience. I only hope you get to, someday.”

With Emma? Fat chance. “You loved her, then?”

Isak’s father nods. “At first sight.”

Isak had never believed in love at first sight before this night, but he sees it in his father. He knows he’s telling the truth. He loved his mother, very much.

“Did you ever see her again?” Isak asks quietly.

Isak’s father clenches his jaw. “No,” he replies, just as quietly. “I didn’t – when I returned home,” at this point, his father begins to look contrite. “I thought it had all been a dream. Your mother, the kingdom. It all seemed far-fetched, too good to be true. So I – willed myself to forget. And I almost did,” he sighs. “Until nine months later, I received this very basket at the foot of my door.”

Isak looks at the basket, now seemingly empty save for the blanket wrapped around it. “Me,” he deduces quietly. His father smiles.

“The greatest gift I’ve ever been sent,” he tells Isak. Isak looks at him. “And it confirmed my earlier theory – Stormhold knew of us beyond the wall. We were the ones ignorant to them.”

“And you kept me?” Isak feels the knot beginning to form in his throat. Isak father looks at him, a little perplexed.

“Of course,” he furrows his brows. “Even if I hadn’t received a letter from your mother, with your name, your birth date, and a plea to look after you for the rest of your life, I would have done it anyway,” he reaches for Isak’s shoulder, squeezes affectionately. “I took one look at you and I knew you would be the light of my life for all of eternity. A small part of her, a small part of me, but entirely your own. The love I have for you is incomparable.”

Isak swallows. His father’s never been this affectionate with him, never this open. Isak had always wished, and now that he has it, he has no idea what to do with it. He’s spent his entire life hiding his emotions, storing them away under lock and key, that he has no idea how to allow them into the light now.

“This is the blanket you were wrapped in that night,” he picks up the blanket and shows it to Isak. It’s red, hand-woven. Isak wants to think his mother made it herself. He reaches out to touch it tenderly. “And here,” his father places the blanket aside, reaches for one last thing inside the basket Isak had missed entirely. “A gift addressed to you.”

His father hands him a neatly rolled letter, solid to the touch, wrapped with a thin yellow ribbon. Isak stares at it for a moment.

“I never opened it,” his father promises. “It was addressed to you, whenever I saw fit to give it to you.”

Isak looks at his father. “So why now?” he asks.

He smiles, albeit a little ruefully. “I wanted you to know love,” he admits. “True love.”

“Yours and my mother’s,” Isak tries to affirm.

“Yes,” his father nods. “And a mother’s love.”

“True love,” Isak repeats quietly. What a foreign concept. He can’t imagine it ever being near his reach. True love, a love that bypasses worlds and walls, witches and trolls, kingdoms and squares. Love of epic proportions, like that of his parents’. He thinks of how small Emma seems in comparison, how small everyone here seems in comparison. Their world is only a fraction of the truth out there – he could never find love. He never thought he could before, and he most certainly doesn’t think so now. Not for lack of trying, he tries to convince himself. He has. He has.

His father gestures towards the letter. “Go on,” he smiles. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No,” Isak says quickly. Reading this alone would only make it more frightening – he needs his father there. He needs to read it out loud, he needs someone else to hear it to make it as real as possible. “No, stay,” he insists. His father nods.

Isak slowly unwraps the ribbon tying the letter, then the letter itself. He’s first greeted by a candle, the length of the width of the paper, black as coal. Isak frowns at it. He hands it to his father, willing him to hold it silently as he reads the letter. His father complies.

Isak reads:

> _To my son, Isak;_
> 
> _Had my mistress allowed it, I would have kept you for all eternity. I’m sorry that this is not how things played out._
> 
> _I wish nothing but the best for you. I am positive your father will provide this. You are, and always will be, the greatest love of my life._
> 
> _When your father gives you this, I hope you will be old enough to understand and to forgive me. If he is as kind and level headed as I remember, I have no doubt you will be._
> 
> _I wish very much for us to meet. If this is something you wish, as well, I have provided you a Babylon candle with this letter. It is the fastest way to travel._
> 
> _Light the candle, and think of me, and only me._
> 
> _It will bring you to me, and we will meet a second time._
> 
> _I will think of you every day, for always._
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _Your mother._

Isak can’t help it – he smiles. A mother. He has a mother, a mother he has asked so many questions after, a mother who loves him. A mother who is far away, as his father’s always told him, and a mother—

“Do you think she’s still alive?” Isak asks the same question he’s asked since he was young, phrased differently now under the light of new discovery.

“I do,” his father hums. “I feel her, still.”

“You feel her, still,” Isak raises an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to take the word of your gut feeling for it?”

His father smiles. “Love does strange things to you, son,” he raises both his eyebrows, almost mockingly. “I’m sure you’ll know one day, with Emma.”

“Right,” Isak mumbles, trying not to sound bitter. “With Emma.”

He looks at the black candle – the Babylon candle, his mother had called it – in his father’s hands, then reaches back for it. In his hand, it feels like weighted gold, a ticket to everything he’s ever, ever wanted. A visit to his mother. To the woman who loved him so immensely she gave him up, made sure he’d grow up safe, and loved.

Isak swallows. “Do you have a light?” he asks.

His father reaches into his pocket. “You want to go now?” he asks, fishing out a match from his pocket.

Isak nods. “The sooner the better, right?” He’s eager. He’s waited long enough for this – he feels like he deserves to find her now.

His father smiles. “Alright,” he reaches for Isak’s shoulder, like he did before, and squeezes again. “You’ll be careful?”

“Of course,” Isak scoffs. “I’m always careful.”

His father rolls his eyes. “And you’ll come back?”

Isak’s heart breaks a little, to know his father has to ask. “Of _course_ ,” he shakes his head. “I’ll always come back to you.”

“And Emma,” his dad teases.

Isak has had enough Emma jokes for one night, thank you very much. He huffs indignantly and takes the match from his father, swipes it against the wooden floor of their attic. It takes a few attempts, but it finally lights at the end. Isak brings the match to the candle, and lights it carefully. 

His father takes the match right afterwards, blows it out. It all goes very quickly from there:

Isak is blinded by light and colors he’s never seen before, and he thinks of his mother, and only his mother.

And then he wonders if he should have perhaps waited until after he retrieved Emma’s star, and then:

The Babylon candle consumes him entirely, and one moment he is there, and the next, he is gone. 

\--

Isak feels something before he sees anything, and that’s a hard chest against his own. He hears something before he sees anything, as well, and that’s a quiet _oof_ coming from directly beneath him.

His eyes meet stunning blue. Isak is confused.

“You’re not my mom,” his eyebrows furrow.

The man beneath him shakes his head. “I don’t think I am.” There’s the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Do you make it a habit to magically fall on top of lying men inside a crater?”

“Er,” Isak says intelligently. “Not particularly.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Isak can’t explain why he can’t look away, but that’s the reality of his situation. There’s a funny tightness in his stomach that he can’t seem to shake and his throat’s all in knots.

“So,” the man beneath him says – boy? Man. “You mind maybe--?” The stranger gestures uselessly with his hands. It takes Isak a moment to understand.

“Oh!” he immediately scurries off the man and onto the hard ground, making sure to crawl as far away from him as possible. “Sorry, sorry, I – sorry.”

The man sits up from where he was previously lying on the ground (thanks to none other than Isak himself) and wipes at his clothes, seemingly unperturbed. “You didn’t mean to, did you?”

Isak stares at him. “Huh?”

The man meets his gaze, and once again, there’s that funny tightness in his stomach. “You didn’t mean to magically knock me over?”

“Oh!” Isak shakes his head. “Uh, no. I thought – I thought I was going to my mom.”

The man furrows his eyebrows. “You meant to knock your mother over?”

“What? No! I thought,” Isak sputters. “I thought I’d be taken to where she is.”

“Ah,” the man nods, seemingly understanding. “How did you end up here, then?”

“I—” Isak is wondering the same thing. He looks down at what’s left of the Babylon candle – which can’t be more than one trip, maybe – and tries to figure out what he did wrong. Light the candle, and think of me, and only me.

He lit the candle, and he thought of his mom, and only his mom, and then—

Ugh. _Emma_.

“Damn it,” he hisses. Just another endeavor ruined by Emma’s persistence. She’d shot into his head at the very last minute, when he remembered that maybe he should secure the star for Emma first before he met his mother and had his entire life changed, and then—

Here.

Well, Isak might as well look for the star.

“Erm,” Isak stands, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to get rid of the dirt now outlining his palms. “You haven’t, by any chance, seen a star lying around, have you?”

“A star?” The man’s voice is deep and rumbling, sounding far too amused for Isak’s sanity.

Isak squirms. “Yeah, like – like. I saw a star fall, right? And, uhm,” he bounces a little on his toes. “And, I need to find it and take it home with me.”

The man’s smile turns crooked. “Oh, do you?” he tilts his head, eyebrows raised. “Why’s that?”

Isak seriously can’t think straight around this man. He’s so – so – his presence is just very – _there_. “Uhm,” he clears his throat. “Just, uh – as an – engagement. Ring. Or, token. Not a ring, she just wants – the star.”

The man bites the inside of his lip, still sitting on the ground. He taps at his chin pensively. “Your beloved wants a star as her engagement present?”

“Sure,” Isak doesn’t flinch at the word _beloved_ , but it’s a very near thing. “Present, yeah.”

“To prove your love for her,” he presses. Isak’s starting to get uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to lie, but he also doesn’t want the man to think he’s just taking the star for money or his own pleasure or – or anything of the sort. “And then marry her.”

“That’s how engagements work, usually,” Isak attempts a weak laugh. “So, ah, any idea where it might be?”

The man looks around. “Well, it should be in this crater,” he hums thoughtfully. “Considering this definitely looks like the aftermath of a falling star.”

Isak nods in agreement. “Yeah! Yeah, it should, so,” he frowns, looking around once more. “But I don’t see—”

“And _you’re_ not a star, by any means, and the only other person in this crater is the guy you magically appeared on top of, so, you’d have to deduce…”

Isak stares at him. He’s not understanding.

And then, he is.

“You?” Isak sputters. “ _You’re_ the star?”

“You’ve caught up!” The man clasps his hands together gleefully. “Friends call me Even, though.”

“I’m—” Is Isak – meant to take a _man_ back to Emma, then? That sounds…like the opposite of something a man looking for a hand in marriage should do. Especially when the man in question looks so much like – well, a man. His eyes definitely look like they belong on a star, anyway. Not that – Isak wouldn’t wax _poetic_ about them, but if it came down to it, he could probably find the words, maybe.

“Your name?” The star – Even – interrupts his thoughts with a simple question.

“Isak,” Isak replies immediately, voice weak. “Valtersen.”

“Hi, Isak,” he smiles. This time, his smile is soft, almost kind. Nothing like the amused crooked grin he’d given Isak earlier. “Nice to meet you.”

Isak stares at him, perplexed. A star – in the form of a human man – just spoke to him. Told him it’s nice to meet him. In a world across the wall, and – and –

Isak probably needs to sit down, soon.

He must have paled, because suddenly the star – Even – looks worried. He stands from where he sat, and Isak looks up at him (and up and up, it seems) as he comes closer. He doesn’t touch Isak, but he leans down, trying to catch his gaze. “Are you alright?” he asks, voice laced with concern.

“Uhm,” he swallows. “I’m not from around here,” he explains. “I don’t – stars aren’t people back where I’m from,” he tries to explain.

Even laughs, and Isak thinks his laugh is nice. It’s joyous, like the ring of a bell on a Christmas morning, and it makes Isak relax slightly. No one with such a nice laugh could want to hurt him – no one with such a nice laugh could be anything other than extraordinary. “No, stars aren’t quite people here, either,” he shakes his head. “We’re just stars.”

“But you look like—”

Even shrugs. “I look much different up there,” he explains. “I shine a lot more.”

“I gathered.”

Even sighs, his tongue clicking for a second. He looks a little lost. Which Isak supposes makes sense, considering he’s a fallen star, and he’s not anywhere near home. Isak glances up at the sky, where the rest of the stars shine brightly down at them, then looks back at Even to find him doing the same. Except, where Isak’s expression was wonder, Even’s is longing. Isak feels a pang of pity for him.

“Why did you fall?” Isak asks tentatively.

Even looks back down at Isak, broken from his stupor. Immediately, Even’s expression turns amicable again, as if for a second he’d broken his composure without meaning to. Isak files this away for later. “Oh,” he looks behind him, as if looking for something, and then it seems he spots it. He walks away from Isak and lowers his hands to gingerly pick something up from the ground, then turns back to Isak and holds up a large necklace, with something like a diamond coating the inside. It’s impressive – definitely something Emma would like, in any case.

“This flying necklace knocked me down,” he explains. Isak blinks.

“That necklace,” he deadpans. “It was flying – and it knocked you down.”

Even considers the necklace thoughtfully. “Yes, it does sound pretty peculiar, doesn’t it?”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Isak scoffs. “Just a little bit.”

Even looks over at Isak. “You said you’re not from around here?” Isak shakes his head. “Where from, then?” 

Isak gestures over to the south. “Across the wall,” he explains. “There isn’t – uhm, there’s no magic over there. No flying necklaces. No people-stars.”

Even laughs again, and Isak’s toes feel it. “No, you have people-stars,” he promises. “We’re all people-stars.”

Isak furrows his brows. “Then how come none have fallen and risen like you have?”

Even shrugs. “We don’t keep track of the stars that fall,” he explains. He doesn’t seem bothered by the admitted fact, but Isak has to wonder if he is. To know his fellow stars wouldn’t be looking for him – wouldn’t, even, be aware that he was gone. That – that makes Isak feel lonelier than he usually feels. He can’t imagine how much it’d be weighing on Even, if this is the case. “But I do know I have to find my way back home,” he sighs, pocketing the necklace. Isak has to wonder about the clothes. Maybe he’ll inquire later. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t go back to your beloved with you, Isak.”

Even offers Isak a small wave, then begins to walk away from him, near the edge of the crater. For a moment, Isak is going to let him, and then he remembers the whispers and the taunting and his status and he just – he can’t let him go.

“Wait!” Isak scurries over to Even, stopping in his tracks in front of him. “Wait, just wait, I’m—” he holds up his hands. “I can’t let you go, I’m sorry.”

Even raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to force me to go with you?” he asks.

Isak considers it for a moment, then takes in Even’s size, and decides against it. “No, of course not,” he breathes, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. “But I just – you’re the only thing she’ll accept as a token.”

Even frowns. “Doesn’t sound like a very good beloved to me,” he points out.

Oh, Even has no idea. “She’s – something else,” Isak admits, trying not to make his dislike too evident. Even considers him either way. Isak squirms under the intensity of his gaze, feels like Even can see miles and miles and miles through him, can pick apart his thoughts and know exactly what he’s thinking, can pick apart his heart and know exactly what he’s feeling.

And he’s known him a total of five minutes.

“But I can’t show up empty-handed,” he explains. “Or she won’t marry me. She’ll accept Mikael’s proposal instead and I’ll—” he swallows. “I’ll let my father down.”

Even tilts his head. He seems to have a habit of doing this. “How does one thing correlate with the other, exactly?”

“It just _does_ ,” Isak replies exasperatedly. “Please, I – look,” he fishes for the Babylon candle in his pocket, holds it up to Even. “Look, I have this.”

Even’s eyes brighten at the sight. “A Babylon candle,” he sounds breathless. Isak feels it.

“Yes,” he clears his throat. “And it’s – it’s all yours if you come home with me. Just so she can see that I _did_ find the star, and it’s not exactly what she thought it’d be, but y’know,” Isak clears his throat. “The effort was made.”

Even considers Isak once more. “And you won’t make me stay longer than necessary?”

Isak shakes his head. “Absolutely not, I promise.”

Raising an eyebrow, Even takes in the Babylon candle once more. “That only has about one more use left in it,” he reminds Isak. “So it would have to be completely my own after this.”

Isak thinks about his mother, thinks about how much he regrets having ended up here. Still, there’s no going back now. He would love to meet his mother, but his father is everything he’s known his entire life, and the man he promised to come home to, and he’d rather secure his father’s name in the town than meet a mother he’s never known.

“All yours,” Isak nods. “No bullshit.”

Even smiles. “Interesting language,” he hums. “I always wondered about curse words.”

Isak blinks. “Uh,” he shakes his head, a little confused. “What?”

“Alright!” he clasps his hands together, like he’d done earlier. He completely bypasses Isak’s question and confusion. “I will go with you, Isak Valtersen. For your beloved and for my ticket home,” he smiles crookedly. “The sooner, the better.”

“In a week,” Isak corrects. “I have to be there by her birthday.”

“Oh, you have a deadline, too,” Even looks amused. “This girl sounds positively _charming_.”

Isak doesn’t feel defensive over Emma – because if anyone deserves passive aggressiveness, it’s probably her – but he does feel a little defensive over his choices, and his honor being challenged. He’s not just being _strung along_ , if that’s what Even’s thinking. If anything, he’s the one doing the stringing. It might seem to Even that Isak’s just – a puppy dog, doing his owner’s bidding, but he’s not. He’s doing this for himself, not for Emma, and to have that challenged is—

—more of a wake up call than anything else, but he’s not going to let Even see that. He can’t let a man – nay, a _star_ – get to him like this. He’s Isak Valtersen, and he’s not about to yield to—

“I like your hair,” Even says suddenly, reaching to run his fingers through it gingerly. “It’s very soft.”

—an ethereal being, he’s a _star_ , for goodness sake, what can Isak really fault him for, not understanding basic human social cues? In any case, Isak does _not_ lean into Even’s touch, and he will stand by that notion for years to come, but he won’t deny that the touch is warm on his head and his entire body ceases to move for half a second and his lungs refuse to work for the same amount of time and he doesn’t understand why his body is reacting the way it is to Even, but it is, and it’s a fact, and it’s maybe the truest thing he’s ever known.

Even, completely unaware of Isak’s inner turmoil, simply takes his hand back and grins at Isak. “Alright, let’s head out, yeah?” he looks back towards the south, where Isak had pointed towards previously. “If we start now, we should be able to make it a day, maybe two days, early.”

“Er,” Isak shakes his head. “I need to sleep.”

“You need to—” Even turns to look at him, blinking. “You need to sleep.”

Isak should not feel as embarrassed as he does under Even’s confused gaze – he’s human, of _course_ he needs to sleep – so he crosses his arms over his chest indignantly and he raises his eyebrows challengingly. “What, don’t stars sleep?”

“Yes,” Even replies slowly. “Just not at night.”

Isak thinks that makes sense. Still—“There’s no way I’ll make it more than a couple of steps if I don’t get at least four hours,” he explains. “So maybe…try to sleep?”

Even stares at him. “Try to sleep,” he echoes.

“Are you just gonna repeat everything I say, or?”

“I’m a _star_ ,” Even shakes his head, clearly perplexed. Isak bites his bottom lip, feeling slightly guilty about this discourse. He’s very aware that Even is a star. In fact, it’s all Isak can think about at the moment. Still, it would benefit absolutely no one if Isak doesn’t get a couple of hours of sleep, because he’s not exaggerating when he says he’ll fall asleep a couple of steps in. Isak doesn’t have many weaknesses – he’s pretty much great at everything – but sleep. Sleep is definitely his one weakness.

“Maybe just an hour?” Isak tries to bargain. “If you want, we can stop somewhere during the day for you to nap, but—”

Even holds up a hand. “I get it, I get it,” he sighs. He looks around the crater, then sits himself down, exactly where he is. “Go to sleep,” Even tells him. “I’ll – sit here.”

Isak squirms. “Will you at least – try to sleep?”

Even smiles. “Sure,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sure at all. “I’ll try.”

Isak doesn’t believe him, but he’s not going to press the matter if it’s beneficial to him. So he removes his coat from his shoulders and folds it neatly on the ground, creating a makeshift pillow. He lies on the uncomfortable rock beneath him, rests his head on the coat, and turns his back to Even; because the less he sees of him, the less Isak has to think about. And at the moment, Isak has far too much to think about to keep – keep thinking about the shade of blue of Even’s eyes or the fluttering in his stomach when Even touched him or anything else about Even, Even, Even—

He needs to close his eyes and let himself drift and let sleep take him under. He needs to rid himself of the thoughts creeping up on him, thoughts he’s never let himself think, and drown them out with the deafening sound of unconsciousness. He needs to learn how to control whatever it is that’s happening here, because if he has no control, then it means life really is fated, and if life is fated—

Then he wonders how Even fits into all of this.

He glances behind him. Even’s looking up at the sky.

Isak doesn’t know. Isak doesn’t know, isn’t sure he wants to know, but somehow has a feeling he’s going to find out.

As sleep finally comes, his last thought is of the stars, and how seamlessly they’ve always seemed to fit into his life.


	3. day two

When he wakes, the light blinds his eyes.

Squinting against the light of the sun, Isak sits up immediately, body still drowsy from sleep. His mouth is a little dry and his back is a little sore, but save for that, he thinks he’s rested. Well – at least, better rested than _before_ , and that’s saying something altogether, so he’ll go ahead and file this one away as a win.

He’s feeling victorious, a little bit, so when he turns back to find Even and finds nothing but an empty crater, his stomach falls spectacularly. Instead of victorious, he now feels like an _idiot_ , and feels like he should have seen this coming. Even is a _star_ , and had absolutely no obligation to Isak, and, well, sure, he _was_ kind, but he also had a mysterious air around him, which, Isak guesses makes sense, because he’s a fucking _star_ , again, and he figures Even’s lived through enough centuries to have seen a couple of things in his lifetime that Isak can’t even begin to understand.

Isak wants to feel like he can’t fault Even, but he still feels – he wants to say it’s _disappointment_ , but Isak doesn’t think he knew Even well enough (or long enough, really) to be disappointed. But the feeling is foreign, and it’s not _nice_ , by any means, and it settles in the pit of Isak’s stomach unpleasantly and seems to have traveled upwards towards his throat, where it finds itself in knots and, no, those _aren’t_ tears in his eyes, if that’s what you’re thinking, and if they are, they’re merely proof of his frustration with this entire situation. It’s his fault, he thinks. He couldn’t do the _one_ thing his mother asked him to do right, because he was too busy thinking about bringing back a fallen star as an engagement ring (token, present, _whatever_ ) for a girl he doesn’t even _like_ , much less _love_ , and what made him think any part of this endeavor would be a good idea—

—his self-deprecating thoughts are cut short by a deep, joyous voice coming from behind him, cheerily making its way towards Isak. “Good morning!”

Isak scrambles to look behind him, and there, bouncing cheerfully towards him, is Even, and Isak doesn’t let himself think too much about the relief that spreads throughout his body at the sight of him alone. He looks – if it’s possible, he looks far more radiant in the daylight, ironically, the sun reflecting off his hair in rays and shining on his skin almost meticulously, like the sun has mapped its way across Even’s body and knows exactly where to shine the brightest.

He – actually, Isak thinks he might be glowing, a little bit? But he’s also pretty sure that’s just his imagination, or a trick of the light, because people don’t just _glow_ , and then he wonders if maybe his open-mouthed stare has gone on for a little too long without a word.

Even doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looks amused when he finally reaches Isak, that stupid crooked smile of his in place on his lips. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” he teases. Isak blinks. Close your damn mouth, he tells himself.

He listens, mouth closing so quickly he feels a jolt in his jaw. He rubs at it. “A star, actually,” he jokes lamely, but Even laughs nonetheless. Isak pushes himself off the ground and reaches for his coat, now riddled with dirt, and begins to dust it off with his hands. He avoids Even’s eyes for as long as he possibly can, but then he realizes Even’s bouncing on the balls of his feet a little impatiently, so Isak raises his gaze to meet Even’s blue one.

Even smiles widely when Isak finally looks at him. Isak thinks that’s very unfair. “I brought you some breakfast,” he tells Isak, and Isak notices for the first time the two apples on either of Even’s hands. Isak swallows at the gesture – a minute ago, he’d been doubting Even’s integrity, as it were, and now here Even is, happily offering Isak _breakfast_.

Isak must take too long to reply, because Even’s smile falters a little bit. “What?” he furrows his brows. “You don’t like apples?”

“No!” Isak exclaims, quickly swiping one of the apples from Even’s hands. Their skin brushes momentarily, but Isak feels as if he could live off that touch for years and years. “No, uh, I love them, I just—” Isak swallows, a little uncomfortable under Even’s gaze. He looks genuinely concerned about Isak’s feelings, and Isak doesn’t exactly know what to do with that. “When I woke up, I just – I thought you’d left,” he admits, a little sheepishly.

Even blinks. “Why would I leave?” he asks, voice genuinely curious. “We have an agreement, don’t we? I don’t back out of agreements,” Even huffs. Isak feels his face flame – he _knows_ he was being ridiculous, alright, he doesn’t need the _star_ validating his ridiculousness. Isak’s hand tightens around the apple, and he shrugs, aiming for carelessness.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” Isak mutters, wiping the apple against his shirt in a moot attempt to clean it.

Even’s head tilts to the side. “Hey,” he says, voice deep and as intense at his gaze, which he forces Isak to meet before he continues. “I’m not gonna leave you, okay? I just went to get us some breakfast. But rest assured,” Here, he smiles a little bit, and Isak thinks he can feel whatever strings have been holding his knees upright snap, almost forcing them to buckle. “I’m not going anywhere until you get me to your beloved and show her your valiant effort at rescuing a star.”

“Emma,” Isak corrects weakly, unable to stand Even referring her as his _beloved_ any longer. “Her name is Emma.”

For a moment, Isak swears Even’s expression turns a little sour, but it comes and goes so quickly it’s hard to tell. The easy smile graces his lips once again, and he straightens his posture. “Emma, then,” he echoes. “Good name. Sounds like a keeper.”

Isak doesn’t think he can reply to that without giving his dislike away, so he changes the subject instead. “Uh, so,” he takes a large bite out of the apple. The more his mouth is occupied, he figures, the less he’ll have to say. Some of the juice unceremoniously misses his mouth and instead makes way down his bottom lip. Isak wipes at it with his thumb.

Even’s eyes follow the movement, and something in his gaze turns a little dark. Isak wonders if maybe _Even’s_ the one who doesn’t like apples.

Raising an eyebrow, Isak swallows the bit of apple he’s finished chewing and looks at Even. “Aren’t you gonna have yours?”

Even blinks at him, then regains his composure with a lazy smile. “On the way,” he says. Isak nods.

“Did you manage to sleep?” he asks. Even shakes his head a little.

“Maybe for half an hour,” he tells Isak, and Isak feels a little guilty. It must show on his face, because Even’s already trying to reassure him. “It’s fine, really, I’ll just grab a quick nap somewhere along the way.”

Isak nods. “I’ll make sure of it,” he promises, a little more firmly than he intends to, and Even looks amused. He always looks amused around Isak, and Isak isn’t sure if he’s laughing at him, at his situation, or maybe with him. Though he doesn’t think Even has any reason to laugh _with_ him, because Isak finds this situation anything but funny, so maybe at him. That’s not any more reassuring, and Isak wonders what Even finds funny about him.

Maybe he pities him. It would make sense, considering how small Isak must seem in comparison to everything Even has seen.

The thought is a stray one, and maybe it’s meant to turn into something bigger, but Even doesn’t allow it. “Onward?” he offers cheekily. Isak does not blush at Even’s tone, and he most definitely does not shiver when Even places a gentle hand against the small of Isak’s back to give him a small push in the right direction.

And he does not, absolutely does _not_ , feel that certain spot on the small of his back burning where Even’s hand touched it for about a mile into their journey. 

\--

If Isak’s exhausted, he can’t imagine how Even must feel right now.

He hides it well, but Isak can hear it in his labored breath and see it in the red of his cheeks, and Isak can’t help the incredible guilt that settles at the tip of his fingers.

“We can take a break, if you want,” Isak offers. Even looks slightly offended at the mere suggestion.

“I’m okay,” he says, though he sounds a little bit _not_ , and Isak’s not willing to risk killing the star before he can get him back to Emma, or, you know, the sky. Isak thinks the stars are beautiful, but he can’t imagine them now without the thought of Even shining brightly along with them.

“We’ll take a break,” Isak’s tone is final, and Even levels him with a look, absolutely knowing what Isak’s trying to do, but Isak will not waver, not even under his heavy gaze. Isak raises a challenging eyebrow in return, and he doesn’t know what he expects in reply, but it certainly isn’t a small huff of laughter and a resigned shake of the head.

“Alright, we’ll take a break,” Even agrees, walking over to a nearby tree and dropping to the ground almost immediately. He leans his back against the bark, sighing in what Isak believes to be contentment and closing his eyes.

Isak smiles. He knows it’s not much, but it’s a small victory, and those are the ones that count, in the long run.

He walks over towards Even, but stops about two feet away. He’s not sure he’s welcomed to sit beside him, no matter how large the bark of the tree is, and so he fidgets unsurely for a moment before he hears Even chuckle. His eyes are still closed, but he must know exactly what Isak’s doing, because he’s patting at the grass next to him with a smile. “Come on,” Even invites. “Sit with me.”

Isak bites his lip to hide his smile and makes his way over, sitting cross-legged beside Even. He knows he’s not supposed to, but Even’s eyes are closed and he looks very peaceful, so Isak takes this very moment to take in all of Even’s features; he tries to memorize the length of his eyelashes, the sharpness of his nose, the outline of his jaw. He tries not to drown in the paleness of Even’s skin and tries to find constellations on every single one of his freckles and he doesn’t let his gaze linger too long on Even’s fingertips and this is when Isak realizes—

He’s _beautiful_. And not beautiful in the way people _tell_ him Emma is, but this is on his own, this is real beauty, he thinks. Is this what people in town see when they look at Emma? Is this, maybe, what’s been missing all along? His heart is beating irrationally fast, and he finds Even’s beauty unfair, he finds it personally insulting. To have lived all of his life thinking beauty was one thing, and to come to find it’s been wrong, all wrong: beauty is this, beauty is Even, star or not. He is – quite possibly, he is the most beautiful person Isak’s ever laid his eyes on.

He spares a thought for his father, the words of his story echoing in his head, but he wills them away. This is his own, he thinks. This is his own.

He must have stared for quite a while, because suddenly Even’s eyes open and catch Isak’s in the act – he quickly looks down, as if he’d been doing nothing but picking at the grass, but he knows it’s a wasted effort, because their eyes met for a single moment and Even had to know, he had to know Isak was doing nothing but drinking him in.

Maybe Isak was wrong before – maybe Even’s a little better at picking up human social cues than he thought, because he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he asks, “Do you like music?”

Isak looks up at the question, which sounds a little bit out of place, considering – but he gives Even a reply nevertheless, because he looks enthusiastic, and he looks genuinely interested in Isak’s answer. “Love it,” Isak admits, smiling contently. “Do you?”

Even’s expression lights up tenfold. Isak is amazed. “I _love_ it. I’ve heard centuries of it, Isak, you wouldn’t believe – I’ve heard some of the most beautiful pieces composed, heard some of the most talented singers sing their hearts out.”

Isak smiles lopsidedly. “Bet none of them were as good as me, though.”

Even turns to look at Isak in surprise, but he notices the crook of Isak’s smile, and something shines in his eyes. “Oh?” he tilts his head. “Do you sing, Isak?”

“Pft,” Isak waves a noncommittal hand at Even. “Do I _sing_? I am the _master_ of singing – _that_ you wouldn’t believe.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Even nods solemnly. “I wouldn’t.”

Isak feigns offense. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Even grins. “You’re excused.”

“I’ll have you know my friend Mahdi thinks I’m a wonderful singer,” Isak sniffs, crossing his arms indignantly. It’s not untrue – although, Mahdi and Isak are usually very drunk when they sing together, and they tend to like each other extra well whenever it happens. They’ll sing their hearts out in a near-empty pub, Magnus clapping along gleefully, Jonas looking like he wished to be anywhere else but there. “We actually sing together quite often,” Isak continues, embellishing. “We might tour the country, someday.”

“Mm,” Even nods, expression serious. “I bet you sound lovely.”

“We do, thank you very much,” Isak replies.

Even blinks at Isak innocently. “Will you sing a little for me?”

“Oh, absolutely _not_ ,” Isak scoffs dramatically. “I don’t think you deserve it.”

Even laughs, bright and loud, and Isak feels it in his belly. “Come on! Isak.” Isak pointedly looks the other way, turning his nose up. Even laughs throughout Isak’s dramatics, and Isak would do this all day if it meant he got to hear Even’s laugh over and over again. “Isak. I want to hear you sing.”

Isak shakes his head, still not looking at Even. “Only _nice_ stars get to hear me sing.”

Even continues to laugh. “I bet your singing voice is the most beautiful one I’ll have heard in my forever.”

Isak shrugs nonchalantly. “I mean, you’re probably right,” he says. “Not like you’ll ever know now.”

Another laugh. Isak wonders what else he can pull to keep hearing it. When he finally turns to look at Even, it looks like he’s glowing again. Isak doesn’t know when his mind will stop playing tricks on him, but Even only looks marginally more beautiful with the glow Isak’s mind has imagined around him, so he doesn’t necessarily complain. He could be going insane, Isak realizes, but he doesn’t very much mind it if it’s Even’s doing.

He wants to delve deeper into this, but something catches his eye in the distance. He looks further west, where the sun is beginning to set, and narrows his eyes at the sight: smoke, he realizes. Man-made, if he’s learned anything from his own chimney.

“What is it?” Even asks, noting the change in Isak almost immediately.

Isak points out towards the distant smoke. “That smoke,” he explains. “It wasn’t there before, was it?”

Even looks. “Maybe?” he shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Well, it just—” Isak shakes his head. “It means there’s lodging nearby. I recognize the shape. It’s chimney smoke.”

“Oh!” Even grins. “A bed, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Isak’s still a little wary at the spontaneity of the smoke. “But maybe – maybe we should just keep walking.”

Even looks at Isak. “You were so intent on me taking a nap earlier,” Even chuckles. “And the sun’s about to set, which means you’ll have to sleep soon, too. What’s suddenly changed?”

Isak doesn’t actually have an answer for that – at least, not one that’ll make much sense – so he tries to shake off the funny feeling in his head that refuses to place logic and the lodging together and pushes himself off the ground. “Never mind,” he says. “You’re right. You need to sleep and a bed would be nice tonight, so,” he gestures west. “After you?”

\--

When they reach the lodge, Isak is amazed they were able to miss it at all.

It’s a large inn, coupled with stables around the back, lit up from the inside and outside. Isak’s seen many inns in his lifetime, but not one as large as this one, nor one so – stranded.

No, it seriously is. Isak can’t imagine why there is an inn in the middle of nowhere – he and Even had been walking through a forest, seemingly endless, no sign of life or towns in sight. The clearing the inn rests upon is very much hidden to the outside world, and had Isak and Even not been directly by its line of sight, they might have missed it completely.

Still, Even seems far less wary than Isak. Whether this is because Even is far too trusting or far too impulsive, Isak can’t tell, but that doesn’t stop him from lagging behind the star, eyes narrowed as he lets them suspiciously trail the wood linings of the outer building. There has to be something wrong here, Isak thinks. There’s something that’s not sitting well with him. He wants to blindly trust as innocently as Even’s doing right now, but Isak’s never been the trusting type – never with the townspeople, so eager to gossip behind his back, and never with a mysterious inn that seems so conveniently placed for them.

Maybe it’s a Stormhold thing. He might be being incredibly paranoid right now.

Even reaches the door first, to no surprise. The sun’s on its last ray, the last bit of it about to touch the horizon before the night completely takes over, so Isak supposes they’re lucky to have found the inn, after all. He carries that thought with him all the way to the front door, where a young woman opens it.

She’s – well, objectively, she is very, very pretty. Her hair is short and blonde, her stature tall, her face smooth and eyes large and inviting. She immediately begins to flutter her eyelashes at Even, and Isak irrationally decides to hate her on the spot.

“Good evening!” she says, bypassing Isak altogether and staring straight at Even. Isak does his best not to huff petulantly, because he’s not a _child_ , and he has no claim over Even, who is a _star_ , so technically, no one should have a claim over Even, least of all this – this – _woman_ , with her fluttering lashes and her flirtatious smile.

Isak’s not bitter, though.

Even blinds the young woman with a grin, because of course he does, and gestures towards Isak. “We found your inn just by chance,” he explains. “We’re in need of some lodging for the night?”

“Oh, of course,” the woman’s voice is cloying, and it reminds Isak of chocolate, which, if you recall, he absolutely hates. She steps aside, further opening the door for the both of them, and Even turns to Isak to grin excitedly and goodness, how can Isak begrudge _anything_ when faced with that grin? He practically bounces past Isak and inside the inn, and Isak follows slowly. He gives the girl a Look, which she immediately and unthinkingly returns, and he suddenly feels cold.

Even’s gaze doesn’t know where to rest as he takes in the inside of the inn. “This is impressive,” he whistles. “I mean, it’s impressive, right?” he looks at Isak. “Have you ever seen an inn so impressive?”

Isak shakes his head, hating the fond smile playing at his lips. “No, I haven’t.”

“No,” Even shakes his head as well, turning his back to Isak once more to further explore the inn’s lobby. “It’s almost like in one of those – what do you call them in your world?” he furrows his brows. “Fairy tales?”

Isak almost snorts. This entire _place_ is a fairy tale to Isak. Even doesn’t understand that, however, so Isak allows Even to have his moment, nods along to his simile. “Yeah,” Isak agrees quietly. Sure, he thinks, but Isak thinks the inn can be as large and as charming as it’d like; the only impressive thing in the room to him is the man before him, smile so wide the ends of his eyes crinkle charmingly, the light of the many candles in the room dimmed by the light of said smile.

Isak feels a little ridiculous, and a little bit hot.

The woman walks up to Even, smiling almost as wide as him. “I’m glad you like it,” she tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Isak narrows his eyes at that hand. “My father’s the owner. He’ll surely get you two settled in. Two separate rooms, I imagine?”

“One,” Isak blurts without thinking. Both Even and the young woman turn to face him – the woman clearly annoyed, Even amused.

Isak clears his throat. “We’ll only need one, thanks,” he can’t turn back now, else he’d look ridiculous – but if he felt hot before, it’s nothing compared to the flaming of his cheeks now.

“Surely you two would be more comfortable in your own beds,” the young woman insists pointedly, and Isak almost feels like she’s getting the words out through the grit of her teeth. She’s staring Isak down, willing him to drop the matter, but hell if Isak’s going to give in to a pretty face. He’s managed to keep Emma at arm’s length all these years, he can surely be immune to whatever this girl’s trying to pull.

“It’s warmer in one bed,” he crosses his arms over his chest, looks over at Even. “You don’t mind, do you, Even?”

Even shakes his head, smile warm towards Isak. “No, I don’t mind.”

The girl huffs. “Well, alright then,” she says, voice decidedly less warm than before. “One room.” She snaps her fingers at what Isak assumes is her father, though he says not a word as he does her bidding, almost galloping up the stairs. Isak isn’t sure how children and parental relationships work in this world, but it’s certainly a surprise to see the little amount of respect from one to another. She looks back at Even, smile switching from sour to kind. “How do you like your bath?” she asks, voice dripping sweetness. “I assume that one you would like alone?”

Even looks over at Isak. “Unless Isak has another objection?” he smirks, and the thought makes Isak’s face flame even harsher, and this time, the blush seems to spread meticulously further down.

Even seems to take notice, because his expression turns from smug to curious, and then that same darkness Isak had seen earlier this morning returns to his face. He squirms.

“No, you can – the baths, alone,” he clears his throat.

Even continues to stare at Isak.

“Well!” The young woman clasps her hands together, as if to break Even out of it, and it works – Even blinks in surprise, expression clearing, and looks back at the blonde. “Then I ask once again – how do you like your bath? Warm? Boiling hot?”

“Uh,” Even chuckles. “I don’t know, to be honest. I’ve never had one.”

The woman furrows her brows, though the sentiment seems practiced to Isak. “Well, that’s strange,” she hums. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’ll go ahead and draw you one myself. Make it a surprise, hm?” Her index finger reaches out to stroke the bottom of Even’s chin tenderly, and Isak does his best to not give into the scowl fighting for control of his face. Instead, he curls his fists around his coat bitterly, hoping against hope that the gesture goes unnoticed. It does.

Even raises an eyebrow at the young woman. “I didn’t catch your name?” he asks, and who cares, Isak thinks.

“Sonja,” she smirks. “Nice to meet you.”

And she’s off, without asking about a bath for Isak, which is no surprise considering her very obvious intentions.

Even turns to look at Isak. “So she was nice,” he starts, and Isak snorts.

“Sure,” he mumbles, walking closer to Even. “Let’s just sleep and get out of here first thing in the morning, okay?”

Even’s brows rise, near the top of his forehead. “You don’t like it here?”

Isak shrugs weakly. “There’s just something about it,” he mutters. “It feels a little off, don’t you think?”

Even looks around, considering. “I don’t know,” he purses his lips. “I’ve never been in an inn, though, so asking me could be pretty pointless.”

Isak huffs a laugh. “Asking me could be, too,” he admits. “Seeing as I’ve never been in an inn in this world. But,” he shrugs. “Seems to run the same way any would across the wall. Except—” Isak frowns.

Even looks at him. “Except…?” he presses.

“Well, she didn’t ask for any form of payment?” Isak’s just now realizing this. Surely the first thing an innkeeper would ask for is some form of payment? What had his father said about Stormhold – about its currency? _The color of your hair, or all of your memories before you were three_.

“Oh,” Even turns to look at the hallway Sonja had disappeared into. “That does seem pretty strange, doesn’t it?” He bites the inside of his cheek, then turns back to look at Isak. “I mean, if you want to leave, we can,” Even smiles tiredly. “We can find a clearing further down—”

And Isak may be a bitter person, but he’d never let Even pass a chance at a warm bed for the night. “No, no, it’s fine,” he insists. “We’ll figure it out, right? I mean, we’ve gotten _this_ far,” he laughs, attempting normalcy. “So, whatever, they’re a little weird, maybe they’re a different kind of nice, or something,” he smiles, trying for reassuring. “What do I know, I’m just a shop boy.”

Even looks at him, considering. “Just a shop boy,” he echoes. Isak rolls his eyes.

“Oh, we’re gonna start with the repeating things again, huh,” Isak raises an amused eyebrow.

Even grins. “No, it’s just, I don’t think anyone is _just_ anything,” Even finally leaves his place in the middle of the room to make his way towards Isak. Isak doesn’t know why the sound of his voice getting closer makes him so nervous, makes his palms drip with sweat, but it does and they do. “You’re a shop boy? Okay, but, see, I didn’t know that, right? So you were the boy who knocked me over magically at first, and then you were Isak Valtersen, and then you were the boy who loves apples, and then you were the boy who worries over my sleep, and then you were the boy who _claims_ to be able to sing but hasn’t actually proved it, and now you’re the boy worried about an inn and its innkeepers and also the boy who thinks he’s just a shop boy.” Even’s smile turns lopsided. “So you’re many things to me,” he explains. “Not just a shop boy.”

Isak clears his throat. “Uh huh,” he says intelligently. He shrugs one shoulder, trying for nonchalant. Trying to make it seem like the words had absolutely no effect on him. “Yeah, I mean, I guess,” he huffs. “It’s, like – yeah, I mean, I get it.” He clears his throat. “Uh,” he looks straight into Even’s eyes, which are looking back far more affectionately than Isak really deserves. “Uhm—”

Before Isak has a chance to embarrass himself further, Sonja returns, smile in place as if it hadn’t left her lips the entire trip to and fro. “Bath is ready,” she calls, voice melodic. “If you’d like to accompany me?”

Isak doesn’t have a good feeling about leaving Even alone with Sonja, but that could be his own irrationality getting the better of him again, so he smiles encouragingly at the silent question Even is asking with his expression. “Yeah, go for it,” he nods towards Sonja, though all he wants to do is take Even’s hand and drag him upstairs. “I’ll, uh, go upstairs to see if our room is ready.”

“Yes, you do that,” Sonja replies cheerily for Even, who frowns and glances back at Sonja. For a reason unbeknownst to Isak, Even seems dimmer than usual – like the glow that Isak’s been imagining around him is no longer in place. He misses it, slightly. He supposes his mind is finding its way back to sanity, and all, which should be a good thing, and yet.

And yet.

Sonja frowns at Even. “Is something wrong?” she asks him, as if she’s also noticed the fact that Even’s dimming on sight. Even looks at Sonja, then back at Isak.

“Maybe I’ll skip the bath,” he smiles, as if the smile were directed at Sonja, but his gaze doesn’t leave Isak’s, and Isak feels his heart soar ridiculously. Sonja’s jaw twitches.

“Oh?”

Isak smiles nervously, and Even’s glow returns. Isak can’t believe how much he missed it, the few seconds it’d been gone. He notices Sonja’s considering glance between the two of them, before she hums appreciatively.

“Well, I can’t make you,” Sonja says. “How about you two get settled into your room before dinner?” Suddenly her smile is warm towards Isak, as well. He wonders what changed in the span of the five seconds between “your bath is ready” and “maybe I’ll skip it”.

Nothing good, Isak imagines.

Even’s smile suddenly turns lazy as he nods over at Sonja, before squeezing Isak’s wrist for just a moment – almost like a reassuring gesture, and Isak can’t help the way his hands go warm, the way his fingers twitch in want of more – and starting to make his way upstairs. “You coming?” he calls out, halfway up already. Isak blinks.

“Er, be right there,” he calls back, before turning to Sonja. Her eyes are narrowed, gaze trailing from Isak’s face down to Isak’s feet. His posture grows rigid, feeling almost like he’s being sized up, which, alright, should be a little ridiculous, but it’s enough to make Isak squirm a little bit.

He clears his throat. “Uh, about the payment,” Isak plays with the outer lining of his coat pocket. Through it, he feels the small glass flower he’d pocketed before traveling through candlelight, the same glass flower his mother had gifted his father so long ago, now his own, for luck. He’d completely forgotten about it – he wonders if the luck’s already kicked in, or if it ever worked, if it was just a ploy by his mother to get his father to kiss her.

Either way, it means something, and it’s what gives Isak the courage to push forward.

“Do you want, like, the color of my hair?” he asks. “Or my memories, or something,” he finishes weakly, as he notices Sonja’s eyes widen – not in shock, but rather, in anger.

“What are you talking about,” she hisses quietly at him. Isak’s a little confused. “We don’t deal in witchcraft currency here.”

Well, her reaction’s a little unfair, considering it’s obvious he has no idea what kind of currency is or isn’t acceptable anywhere, since Isak’s pretty sure it’s clear to anyone that comes across him that he’s _not from around here_ , thanks, so he shakes his head a little petulantly.

“Well, I don’t _have_ anything else,” he starts, but Sonja’s already waving him off.

“We’ll talk about an alternative form of payment before you leave,” she suggests, and Isak may be reading a little too much into it, but it almost sounds like she knows exactly what sort of ‘alternative form of payment’ she’s going to be asking for. It leaves Isak a little on edge.

“Listen, I’m sure if we just, wash your dishes or something—”

Sonja looks at him like he’s crazy. “What—” she scowls. “What does he see in you? You’re the strangest boy I’ve ever met.”

Isak’s a little taken aback. “W-what?” he asks. What does who see in him?

Sonja rolls her eyes. “Wash our dishes,” she mutters. “They get stranger every time. Just – go upstairs, be with him, make him happy. I have to prepare your dinner.”

Isak blinks. “Make him happy?”

“And _keep_ him happy,” she near-barks, and Isak takes a small step back. He’s not _scared_ of her, by any means, obviously, because he’s nearly a head taller than her, but – well, she’s a little intense. And it’s not like Isak started off the evening _liking_ her, so this just validates his opinion, he thinks, even though she’s being aggressive about an arguably _nice_ request.

“Uh.”

“Oh, stop stuttering,” Sonja turns her back on him. “Go on.”

She disappears through a door, which Isak assumes is the door to the kitchen, and leaves him out in the lobby, by himself.

Isak thinks this is the strangest world in all of the universe.

Not that he’s seen any others, though. He might be in the most normal world, in fact. Although, maybe that’s subjective, considering he’s part of a world he’d considered normal his entire life, but Sonja seems to think he’s strange, because this is quite possibly all she’s ever known. The idea that the world that is strange to him might be normal, mundane, even, to the people living in it, is so far-fetched Isak’s not even sure he’d be able to keep up with it, even if he did attempt to catch it and understand it.

“ _Hey_!” Isak startles, eyes widening as he looks up to find Sonja, kitchen door ajar and arms crossed irritably over her stomach. “What are you still standing there for?”

Isak stutters.

“Upstairs!” she barks, and Isak isn’t saying he _scrambles_ to run up the stairs, but he’s certainly lacking some sort of grace as he does.

Once upstairs, he unceremoniously bumps into Sonja’s father, who simply shakes his head in an attempt to right himself.

“Uh,” Isak clears his throat. “Sorry, I’m – our room?” he asks lamely.

Sonja’s father stares at him intensely before he turns and points to the second door on the left.

Isak nods. “Thanks,” and almost immediately after, Sonja’s father gallops back down the stairs.

No, see, that _has_ to be weird in any world.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Isak makes his way towards the room Sonja’s father had pointed him towards, suddenly nervous. His palms feel sweaty, Sonja’s words echoing obnoxiously in his mind. _What does he see in you, what does he see in you, what does he see in you?_

They’re eerily similar to the townspeople’s whispers back home – _what does Emma see in him, what does Emma see in him, what does Emma see in him?_

Isak would like very much to have an answer for all of them. As it were, he hardly knows himself.

Not for Emma, and not for Even, which Isak is pretty sure is the “he” Sonja was referring to. In fact, Isak’s also sure Even doesn’t see much of anything when looking at Isak. Even is a star, Even lives forever, he’s gathered, and Even’s seen more than enough people in his lifetime that Isak probably looks like a – a misplaced pebble, if anything. Sonja can’t possibly think Even sees anything more, and Isak refuses to accept that as fact.

Rubbing at his temples for a moment, he takes a deep breath and pushes at the handle, tentatively opening the door.

Even is standing at the corner of the room, very – very _shirtless_ , staring down at something in his hands. His back is to Isak, which Isak couldn’t be more grateful for at the moment, because it gives him a couple of seconds to try and regain the composure he’s completely lost. His face is hot, along with the rest of him, and he casts his gaze downward, willing his breath to come back to him. It’s nothing – nothing he hasn’t seen before, of course, he’s seen himself and he’s seen some of the boys back home shirtless as well, when they went for a swim in the lake some summer mornings, when the rain soaked their clothes to near-ruin; Isak could appreciate the human body, he knew, though maybe the male body a little more than the female body if he’s being honest with himself, but none of them – not once – had made his heart hammer as loudly as this, made his entire body feel on fire, bright and hot and dangerous. It’s nothing, he tells himself. It’s nothing.

Isak clears his throat to announce his presence. From his peripheral vision, Isak sees Even turn around. “Oh!” Isak looks up, so as to not look suspicious, pointedly looking nowhere else but at Even’s eyes. “Everything okay down there?”

Isak’s eyes widen in panic. “W-what? Where? Everything – everything’s fine down there, I don’t know – why are you asking, anyway, why would you think it wouldn’t be?”

Even blinks. “Because a moment ago you were suspicious of Sonja?”

If there was a wall that Isak could cross over right now that would suck him into a void of nothingness, where he would wither away for all of eternity, Isak would cross over it happily. At this second. Sign him up, he will take one wall, please.

He can feel his cheeks redden. “Ah,” he clears his throat. “Yes, it’s, uh, it’s whatever, everything’s good. Down _stairs_.”

Even looks at him suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

Please stop talking to him. “I’m _sure_ ,” Isak rolls his eyes, turning around to look at the bed to avoid Even’s prying gaze. “She’s just going to prepare dinner, that’s all.”

Isak belatedly notices two outfits sprawled neatly on the bed – they’re similar, and they look fresh and washed, a glaring difference to both of their outfits right now. This explains Even’s lack of a shirt, but it doesn’t explain why he was casually standing at the corner of the room, as if he’d forgotten how to put one on. Though, that may be the case, Isak thinks. Even’s only ever been a star, not a human, even if he has watched humans all of his life.

Nevertheless, Isak grabs at one of the shirts on the bed and offers it to Even. “You’ll catch a cold like that,” he explains weakly. Even laughs softly, taking the shirt from Isak with his free hand.

“I’m not sure stars _catch_ colds,” Even hums, though he drops what he’d been holding in his other hand on the bed to shrug the shirt on. Isak, intent on not watching the show, looks at what Even dropped on the bed – he realizes that Even had been staring at the necklace that had allegedly knocked him out of the sky, the one with what seemed to be a diamond carved into the gold linings that surrounds it. Isak reaches out to trace his fingers along the jewel.

“I forgot I had it in my pocket,” Even suddenly chimes, startling Isak. He looks up to catch Even’s amused gaze, then watches it shift from him to the necklace on the bed. “I don’t know why I’m keeping it around.”

Isak licks his lips. “Maybe you think that if it knocked you out of the sky, somehow it can get you back, too?”

Even looks at Isak. “Yeah, maybe,” he nods slowly. Isak spares a thought for the Babylon candle, resting heavily in his coat pocket. He wonders why Even would bother with an alternative option – does he not trust Isak to hand it over? “Mostly I want to know who it belongs to, though,” he explains. “I think. I want to know why it was flying and why it knocked me down.”

Isak smiles crookedly. “Maybe it was looking for its mom.”

Even stares at him for a moment, confused, before his face clears. He laughs, and the glow returns, almost blinding Isak. He can’t believe his mind is so obsessed with Even it will conjure up an entire halo around him. He doesn’t know who’s more pathetic, him, or his brain.

(He ignores the fact that it’s probably both.)

“It’s weird you forgot you had an entire necklace in your pocket,” Isak says, reaching into his own. “’Cause I forgot I had something important to me in my own.”

He fishes for the small glass flower, setting it tenderly down on the bed so as to not disturb his mother’s memory, then, out of the other pocket, what remains of the Babylon candle.

Even’s eyes peruse the flower curiously. “What’s that?” he asks. He reaches out, as if to take the flower in his hand, but then looks questioningly up at Isak. Isak nods, allowing him to take it. He does.

“It belonged to my mother,” he explains. “It was a gift for my father.”

“Oh,” Even continues to gaze at it, his long fingers tracing the petals. “So is it – does it do anything?”

Isak laughs quietly, then shrugs. “It’s supposed to bring whoever carries it luck,” he explains. “I don’t know, I think that was mostly a come-on. I don’t think it does anything.”

Even furrows his brows. “You never asked her?”

“I never knew her,” Isak corrects quietly. Even looks at him.

“Oh,” he tilts his head. “It’s why you lit the Babylon candle.” He realizes suddenly, as if putting the pieces together.

Isak nods. “My father met her here,” he explains. “In Stormhold. She gave him the flower, and then me, nine months later. She wrote me a letter, told me to think of her when I lit the candle. So we could meet again.”

Even frowns. “But you came to me, instead.”

Isak bites his lip. “I thought about Emma at the last minute.”

Even’s expression dwindles slightly. “Oh,” he nods, setting the flower down on the bed again. “That makes sense.”

Isak wants to tell him about every single way it doesn’t, but he doesn’t get the chance to. There’s a knock at their door, and they both turn to look over at it. Even looks at Isak, shrugging his shoulders. Isak takes this as permission to allow whoever it is inside.

“It’s open,” he allows, and it’s a woman, dark hair and equally dark eyes. She looks a little nervous.

“Dinner is ready,” she squeaks, then makes her way out of the room as quickly as she’d come in. Isak huffs a laugh.

“That was fast,” he notes. Faster than any dinner he’s ever fixed, anyway. It’s a little strange, but he doesn’t get to dwell on it – when he turns back to look at Even, the star looks a little worse for wear, and he’s avoiding Isak’s gaze.

Isak furrows his brows in confusion. “Everything okay?”

Even meets Isak’s gaze evenly. Someday, Isak will get used the blue of Even’s eyes, and they’ll stop taunting his stomach, stop doing things to his knees. Today is not the day, he knows – it’s only been about a day and a half, after all, so he can’t expect anything different. But he wonders if he’ll miss it – the sensation, the shade of them. He wonders what will happen when Even goes back home.

He wonders if he’ll recognize him, know to pick him apart amongst all of the stars.

Isak thinks he would. Isak thinks nobody could possibly miss him.

“Everything’s fine,” Even smiles tiredly. He grabs the trousers on the bed, then gestures towards Isak’s own outfit. “We should change, right? Then head down,” he nods towards the door.

Isak’s face burns. “Yeah, I’ll ah,” he grabs his outfit. “I’ll change in the bathhouse next door.”

Even nods, seemingly lost in thought. Isak grabs his flower and his candle, and closes the door quietly behind him.

\--

When they reach the dining room, in fresh new clothing and belongings pocketed securely once again, Sonja looks irritated, and there is another man seated at the table.

He’s young, and he’s handsome, and he’s got a permanent smirk etched onto his lips. Isak’s a little wary of him immediately, especially when he near-sneers at Even, who looks back with the smallest hint of distaste in his expression. Isak hasn’t seen that from Even at all – not even when Isak knocked him over in the crater – so that must mean this man must be made of something entirely foreign.

Sonja gestures towards the young man. “Your dinner will be shared with your highness,” she looks like she’s about to roll her eyes. “Christoffer.”

Your highness? Even and Isak exchange a glance. Certainly no prince of theirs.

“Let me tell you, I was very lucky to find this inn,” Christoffer’s voice is loud and pretentious, demanding attention from everyone in the room. Isak does not like him. “My men and I’d gotten lost through the forest and thought for sure we would never catch up to my brother.”

Sonja rolls her eyes behind the young man. “Sit,” she orders Isak and Even. They comply, sitting beside each other and across from Christoffer. “I will be back with your dinner.”

“Marvelous,” Christoffer cheers, and Sonja spares him an annoyed glance before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Isak notices belatedly the wall aligned with tired-looking men behind Christoffer. “Er,” Isak nods at them. “Hello.”

“Don’t greet them,” Christoffer furrows his eyebrows at Isak, as though Isak’s personally offended him. “They’re nothing but serving boys.”

And they look like they’ve been doing nothing but. Isak doesn’t press the matter, but Even looks like he’s about to. Isak reaches out to place his hand over Even’s placatingly.

Even blinks, looks down at their hands for a second, then blinks back up at Isak, looking awestruck.

Isak clears his throat and quickly takes his hand back, almost like he’d been burned. Even continues to stare down at his own. “So,” he looks back at Christoffer. “You said you got lost?”

“Yes,” Christoffer nods, obviously reveling in the fact that he’s now the center of attention once again. “That dreaded forest, with its enchantments and its unicorns. I hate them both.”

Isak blinks. Unicorns, of course, because why not? “And, uh,” he squirms in his seat, glancing at Even, who’s doing nothing but looking politely bored. “You said you were looking for your brother?”

“Catching up to him,” Christoffer corrects. “ _Looking_ for an amulet.”

“Ah,” Isak nods. “You lost it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I did not _lose_ anything,” Christoffer rolls his eyes. Isak is really tired of people thinking he’s just supposed to _know_ things they haven’t told him about. “It flew away.”

At this, Even perks up. “Flew?” he asks. Isak knows of a necklace – or, well, an amulet, apparently – that flew straight into the sky and conveniently knocked a star down in its path.

Christoffer sighs loudly. “Yes, flew,” he holds up his hand, palm upward, dramatically. “It was so close to my grasp and then”—here, he clenches his fist and slaps the table with his free hand, frightening the serving boys behind him—“gone. Flew straight out the window of my father’s bedroom and into the sky.”

Even glances at Isak, who looks back, a little warily. Isak presses his knee against Even’s, willing him to settle down, and he does, though his gaze turns a little dark.

“Why did it fly out the window?”

Christoffer reaches for his wine cup, taking a loud, obnoxious sip of it. “Why else?” Of course, why else? Isak’s _supposed_ to know this, isn’t he? He’s supposed to be able to read everyone’s fucking mind, right? “To help my dying father crown the next King of Stormhold.”

Isak and Even remain silent. “Okay,” Isak says slowly. “I think we might have skipped a couple of chapters ahead in this story.”

“Ugh,” Christoffer rolls his eyes, as if he were a child of twelve being asked about his chores. “Plebeians. They never understand,” he sighs, setting down his wine cup once again. He puts his feet up on the table, as if attempting to get comfortable enough to tell a long story. Isak sighs, unable to believe he’s found himself in the same position twice in the span of a day.

“I have seven brothers and one sister,” he begins. “I am the fifth male born of the Stormhold bloodline, making me fifth in line for the throne, of course. Keeping up, still?”

Isak and Even nod solemnly.

“Right, so,” he clears his throat tremendously. “My father, seventh of nine brothers that my grandparents bared, rose to power through a ritual that his father before him, and _his_ father before him, and so on and so forth, had to complete: the restoration of the amulet.”

Even twitches.

“Beautiful piece of jewelry, mind you, with a ruby engraved inside”—oh, it’s a ruby, Isak realizes, not a diamond—“and the last male heir of the King before him must be in possession of the amulet to claim the throne.”

Isak is confused. “Wait, I thought that – in monarchies, first-borns were just supposed to take over the throne,” he blinks, because that’s all he’s ever been taught in his world.

Christoffer’s lip curves upward maliciously. “Not in my family,” he sniffs loudly. “In mine, we kill each other.”

Isak and Even exchange a glance. “You kill each other,” Isak deadpans back.

Christoffer sighs loudly. “Yes, would you keep up? You’re being ridiculously slow.” Isak doesn’t think he’s the slow one in this conversation, but he’s smart enough to not say that out loud. “So, the amulet I’m looking for drains of color when the current King – my late father, God rest his soul – passes. Only the true male heir to the throne can restore the ruby back to its original form.”

“So, red,” Isak quips.

Chris sneers. “Don’t be a smart ass. _Yes_ , red, and at the touch of the true heir.”

“Where does the killing part come in, exactly?” Isak asks.

“Ah, yes,” he clears his throat. “You see, the only way one can be the true heir to the throne is if he’s the _last_ heir to the throne,” he explains. “Meaning brothers have to kill brothers in order to be the last heir standing. Thereon forth, whichever brother is cunning enough to have rid of all others is the last male heir standing, and therefore can restore the ruby back to its original form.”

“Red,” Isak repeats.

“You – yes, _red_ , alright,” Christoffer snaps.

“So if you found it now,” Isak begins slowly. Even’s is clinging to his pocket for dear life. “It’d turn red?”

“No, not exactly,” Christoffer looks longingly out the window. “I’d have to be the last living heir.”

“And your brothers are still alive,” he deduces.

“Only one,” he sighs. “William.”

“Uh huh.”

“My favorite brother.”

Isak pauses. “But you’re going to kill him,” Isak states.

“But I’m going to kill him,” Christoffer affirms.

“So why look for the amulet if you’re still not the last living heir?” Even chimes in, voice thoughtful and quiet.

“It would make it much easier,” he gestures uselessly. “If I had the amulet, my brother’s search efforts would be futile and all I would have to worry about would be killing him.”

“What about your sister?” Even asks, pensive as always.

Christoffer shrugs. “Haven’t seen her in years,” he says. “Though she wouldn’t have been much of a threat. Last _male_ heir, remember?”

“I remember,” Even levels Christoffer with a look. “Sounds a little sexist to me.”

Christoffer furrows his brows. “A little what?”

Isak exchanges another glance with Even. They both silently agree that they’re not going to give the amulet back to this man. Doesn’t seem like the type of man Stormhold deserves as its ruler.

With that in mind, Isak chimes in, a little irritated, by scoffing. “This all sounds ridiculously complicated and unnecessary to me. What does power mean without the love and – and the support of your family?” Isak can’t imagine a world where he would be more preoccupied with ruling over the love and company of his father. He can’t fathom why anyone would be raised to believe in such a thing.

Christoffer is looking at him, disgusted. “Who are you, again?”

Isak shakes his head. “Nobody.”

Christoffer’s face clears. “Ah, that’s right.”

Isak’s about to retort with something he can only hope is snippy, but by now, Sonja’s coming out of the kitchen with a tray of three plates, looking irritated.

She drops the first plate unceremoniously in front of the prince. “Your highness,” she deadpans through clenched teeth. Isak has a feeling Sonja doesn’t very much like Christoffer.

Christoffer says nothing, simply raises an eyebrow at his plate. “I suppose this’ll do, if it’s all you have.”

Isak doesn’t like Sonja, but even _he_ can be a little more appreciative of the food she’s providing them with. Still, it’s not like Isak plans to stay through dinner, anyway. The sooner they hide Even and the amulet from Christoffer, the easier Isak will rest.

“Uh,” Isak says intelligently as Sonja sets his own plate in front of him. He notices there’s no slamming the plate down this time. “Actually, I think Even and I will just – head to bed,” he clears his throat. Even looks over at him curiously, but doesn’t object.

Sonja looks slightly panicked. “What? No, don’t go,” she insists. “Look, I picked the finest apples from our tree out back – Even mentioned to my father that you loved them,” she grabs the apple from Christoffer’s plate, making him grunt and swipe it back indignantly.

Isak shakes his head. “I’m not that big a fan,” he laughs nervously. “We’re just – really tired,” he taps at Even’s wrist discreetly. “Right, Even?”

Even is a much better liar than Isak, though you won’t catch Isak admitting that out loud. “Right,” he slides his chair back, stands from it. “We’re just beat.”

Sonja’s lip curls unpleasantly. “I assure you that the food will make you feel a _lot_ better if you only give it a chance—”

“Girl!” Christoffer interrupts. He places a hand on his chin and looks up at Sonja. “The two gentlemen said they’d like to head back up to their room for the night. Don’t you think it’s better that way?” he smirks at her. “Gives us some time to get to _know_ each other.”

Isak feels as disgusted as Sonja looks.

Even wraps his fingers around Isak’s wrist, like he’d done earlier, and tugs while the two are distracted.

Isak tries to hurry away in a flurry, but this is where he makes a dire mistake:

He expects Even to let go of his wrist in the process, but he most certainly does _not_ let go, which means Isak pulls Even backwards with far more ferocity than intended, which then means that Even trips over his own feet, which means that Sonja and Christoffer are now looking at the show of Isak and Even, which means that before Isak can help right Even:

The amulet falls out of Even’s pocket, and hits the floor.

There is a moment of silence.

And then:

“Let me see that,” Christoffer demands, standing so quickly from his chair that it scrapes the floor harshly.

Isak scrambles to grab the amulet from the floor and pockets it in his coat, beside his mother’s flower. “It’s nothing,” he insists. “Just an old heirloom.”

Christoffer waves at his serving boys, and one of them immediately throws a sword his way, which he skillfully catches without a look backward. “I _said_ ,” he sounds far more menacing than childish now. “Let me see that.”

Even holds an arm out in front of Isak. “Listen, Christoffer,” he sounds incredibly nonchalant for someone facing an angry, murderous prince. Even Isak’s a little panicked, and Isak’s hardly panicked by anything, ever. “There’s no need to pry. It’s just a necklace that belonged to my father. Not a big deal, we’ll just be going to bed, hm?”

Christoffer sneers, slowly making his way around the table. “You think I won’t kill you both right here, right now?”

“Oh, no, we have no doubt you’ll try,” Even starts to move both him and Isak back. Isak clasps his hand around Even’s forearm and squeezes, silently letting him know that there’s no way he’s backing down, if that’s where Even’s going with this protective stunt he’s pulling.

“Then you’d be smart to just hand over the amulet before I do,” Christoffer twists his wrist and the sword swings impressively. His posture hasn’t wavered, and he’s very close to backing both Isak and Even against the wall.

“That doesn’t guarantee you wouldn’t kill us either way,” Even points out, voice light.

Christoffer smirks as Isak’s back presses against the wall. “Smart boy.”

He pulls his sword back, and it all happens very quickly – Isak rids himself of Even’s grasp and pushes him out of the way, the momentum pulling Isak backwards and to the floor, and he hopes against all hope Christoffer’s sword will hit the wall instead of either of them. The plan afterwards will probably involve a lot of running on both their parts. It might work.

But he doesn’t get the chance to find out – before they know it, Christoffer’s neck is dripping blue, and he’s falling on his knees, then on his face, to the ground.

Dead.

Isak scrambles to his feet, rushing towards Even. His hands find either side of Even’s arms, and Even’s hands find either side of Isak’s shoulders. “Are you okay?” Isak breathes.

Even huffs a shaky laugh. “Yes, you _idiot_ ,” he shakes his head. “He could have killed you—”

“I was about ten percent sure he wouldn’t—”

“That is not enough,” Even insists, voice fierce. “Okay? From now on, anything that is less than a ten percent chance is not a chance.”

“You think people’ll try to kill us more than once?” Isak asks, perplexed.

“Oh, yes,” The reply does not come from Even, but instead from Sonja – they both turn to look at her at the same time, standing smugly over Christoffer’s body, wiping at her blue-coated dagger with a rag.

Blue blood. Right, Isak thinks. Just something else to file under the “This Place is Really Weird” cabinet in his head.

Even looks from Sonja to Christoffer’s body on the floor. Isak can’t take his eyes off of Even – he looks dimmer than usual. No glow. “Sonja, thank you,” he says in earnest. “For saving us.”

Sonja scoffs. “You’re both idiots,” she throws the rag over her shoulder, and then, with nothing but a curl of her fingers, all the exits around Isak and Even snap shut.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Isak whines. Two attempts at their lives in the same night and over a fucking necklace? A prince and a witch. This should be made into a play. “You can _have_ the amulet, Sonja, for fuck’s sake, we don’t want it.”

Sonja rolls her eyes as she begins to walk towards them, dagger held upward. “I don’t want your amulet, you dimwitted troll,” she hisses, and Isak doesn’t know much about trolls, but he knows enough to be offended. “I want his _heart_.”

Isak looks at Even, who suddenly looks truly, really frightened, like Isak has never seen him before. Isak thinks he looks completely void of color in the wake of this emotion, and he can’t – he can’t stand it. Can’t stand seeing him that way, of course, and won’t stand for his, y’know, murder.

Isak steps in front of Even. “What the _fuck_ ,” Just when he thinks he’s got a grasp on what this world’s about, someone goes and tries to take Even’s _heart_. Both of Isak’s arms wrap themselves backward around Even, pushing him towards the wall, the same way Even had done for Isak when it’d been Christoffer after them.

Sonja’s laugh is shrill. “This was all supposed to be a lot less dramatic,” she explains, awfully casual for someone about to commit murder. “A frightened star’s heart isn’t as good as a happy one, but it’s better than no heart at all.”

None of this is making any sense to Isak, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He has to think, and think quickly, because Even’s gone completely still behind him, in what Isak thinks is both fear and shock. A plan, a plan. He needs to get them out of here, but all of the exits were magically shut, which means they can’t just make a break for it, and even if they _could_ , Sonja’s the one with the magic here, not Isak, so who’s to say she wouldn’t just magic herself right in front of them again, and she’s moving quickly now towards them—

Isak’s head turns left, turns right, trying to find a weapon, any weapon, and then—

“ _For our Prince_!” A swarm of (very forgettable, it appears) serving boys are suddenly hurling themselves at Sonja, who shrieks – less frightened, more surprised, but the distraction is enough for Isak to grab Even by the wrist and make a break for the door.

Isak tries at the knob desperately, trying to ignore the ruckus behind him, but it’s no use – whatever magic Sonja had used to slam the doors shut will obviously not let up, not with a kick, not with a push. “Come on,” he mutters, and turns to look at Even, who seems to have gone completely limp.

“Even,” Isak places his hands on either side of Even’s face. “Even, stay with me, we’re gonna have to be a team here,” Even meets Isak’s gaze, but the blue of his eyes now look grey, and he doesn’t seem to be responsive. “Okay,” he mutters uselessly. “Okay, so you’re not with me, that’s fine,” Isak turns, and what his eyes meet is this:

Three dead serving boys, throats slit neatly, and four more holding their own against the witch. Sonja doesn’t seem worried – if anything, she seems to be enjoying the distraction, and is taunting the boys the way one would taunt a cat with a toy; her magic toys with them, left and right, pots and pans and food and chairs flying all around them, giving them a good beating before Isak assumes she’ll slit their throats the same way she did with the other serving boys.

Still, her fun is the only thing keeping Isak and Even alive at the moment, so he’s going to have to think quickly. The stairs loom grandly next to them. Isak wonders if Sonja’s magic shut the doors and windows upstairs, as well, but he literally can’t lose anything else by trying at this point. He grabs Even’s wrist once more and drags him up the stairs as quickly as he can, and then door to door to door, attempting to open each and every single one of them, and failing each and every time. “Damn it,” he hisses, trying for one of the windows in the hallway. He kicks at it. “ _Damn it!_ ” He yells this time, frustrated.

The floor shakes underneath him. Isak stops in his tracks, looks back towards the stairs. There’s complete silence for a moment, and then –

The stairs cave in at the end of the hallway, blocking their only exit, and all around them: fire.

They’re surrounded by it, can’t escape it, and Isak immediately begins to sweat from the sheer closeness of it. He grabs Even’s coat and pulls him closer to him, away from the flames. Isak swallows – at this point, he can unashamedly admit he’s absolutely fucking _scared_ – and wonders if this is seriously going to be how he dies. Burned to death. By a witch, with a star.

Out of nowhere, Sonja appears at the end of the hallway, smiling viciously. “That was fun,” her dagger is still in her hand, like a promise to the both of them. “Had to end eventually, though. You understand. I have a heart to attend to,” her smile turns into a snarl. “This _could_ be quick and painless,” Sonja nods. “But I don’t very much feel like giving you the option.”

Isak just wants to note, at this part of the story, that he was so fucking _right_ about Sonja, and this entire inn. He wants that on record, before he dies. You don’t just _doubt_ his gut feelings, even if you are doubting them at the expense of a beautiful boy with a beautiful smile.

He turns to Even then, who’s staring at Isak, but not really looking. Isak grabs the back of his neck, pulls his head down to press their foreheads together. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” Isak whispers, as Sonja makes the flames dance around them. “I wish – I wish there was a way to get you home, to get you out of here, but we know the amulet can’t do that now, and all I have is—”

Isak pauses.

“All I have is…”

Isak takes his hand back, patting at either of his coat pockets before feeling the rounded lump he’s searching for. Shakily, he reaches into the right one and pulls it out – the Babylon candle. “Oh, my God,” Isak laughs victoriously. “Oh my God.”

Isak wraps an arm around Even’s neck. Sonja’s beginning to get closer, the smoke beginning to take its toll on Isak’s lungs. He pulls Even down and whispers into his ear: “Close your eyes, and think of home.”

Even exhales shakily into Isak’s neck.

Isak holds the candle towards the flame, and watches it light. He closes his eyes, and he thinks of his father.

The Babylon candle consumes them entirely, and one second they are there, and the next, they are gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to note here: i love sonja with all my heart. i do not think she is a witch. unfortunately, she had to be sacrificed for The Metaphor. this is a sonja stan space ONLY. thank you


	4. day three

Isak is on a cloud.

Because of course he is.

“Why are we on a cloud?” He’s only yelling because at the moment, he and Even are both being drenched in storm drops, being chased by lightning bolts. One of them lands dangerously close to Isak’s leg. He jumps.

Even, who’d previously been completely useless, seems to be coming to now, and at just the right time. “I—” he looks around. “We’re on a cloud.”

Isak laughs, and it sounds a little insane to his own ears, and he doesn’t know if he’s laughing with relief or disbelief. His back falls against the cloud. He doesn’t know what he expected clouds to feel like, but definitely not this uncomfortable. It feels like stone on his back, and yet it still feels of freedom, so Isak brings his arm up to shield his eyes from the rain and allows himself a moment of relief.

He feels a finger poke at his side. “Isak.”

Isak grunts loudly in response.

“Why are we on a cloud?”

Isak removes his arm from his eyes for a moment, just to peek at Even, and even through the curtain of rain, he can see the blue’s returned to his eyes. Isak grunts again, bringing his arm back over his face. “You tell me, you’re the star.”

Even is silent for a moment. “When you thought of home, you thought about…?”

Isak pauses. “My father,” he replies slowly.

“Ah,” Isak feels Even drop beside him. Thunder growls around them, shaking them, and even through closed and shielded eyes, Isak sees the blinding light of a bolt above them. They’ve survived two murder attempts tonight, and this is going to be their demise: lightning bolts on a cloud. “So, I thought of _my_ home.”

Isak laughs brokenly. “Of course,” he shakes his head. “Oh, of course.” He should have been more specific, he knows, but he was a little busy trying to get out of the burning inn, complete with a dead prince, seven dead serving boys, and what Isak can only presume is a very, very angry witch. “So now we’re in between both our homes,” Isak deduces. “Because we just couldn’t agree on one.”

He doesn’t hear Even say anything. Isak sits up, looking down at a lying Even.

“Okay,” Isak starts loudly to be heard over the roar of the rain around them, and something in his tone must make Even sit up, as well. “You want to tell me why that witch was after your heart?”

Even squirms a little. “Ah, maybe to live forever, or something.”

Isak stares at him. “Or something.”

Even shrugs, casual as if he’d just told Isak what he’d eaten for breakfast.

“Even!” he snaps. Isak knows it’s not fair, he knows it’s not, but he’s not thinking straight – he’s tired and he’s hungry and two people just tried to kill him and now they’re on a fucking _cloud_ and he just wants to get home, for goodness’s sake. “You can’t just – you cannot keep these things from me anymore, alright? Or we end up like this – on a cloud, in the middle of the sky, in the middle of a fucking _storm_ —”

“I can’t very well control the _weather_ , Isak, now can I—”

“Not the point, Even!” Isak near-shrieks. “Not the point!”

Even flinches slightly, and Isak feels a little guilty at his tone. “Look, I’m sorry I don’t start conversations with, ‘ _hey, by the way, whoever holds the heart of a star lives forever, so if anyone knows who I am they might try to kill me and take it_ ’. I just feel like that’s more of a fourth day conversation.”

Just when Isak thinks this world can’t get any more complicated. Just when Isak thinks _Even_ can’t get any more complicated. “God, I am so—”

“Would you have let her kill me if you’d known?”

Isak blinks away the obnoxious rain drops on his eyes. “What?”

“If you’d known about my heart,” Even insists, gaze intense on Isak’s own, and Isak wants to know exactly how he’s looking at Isak so clearly when Isak can’t see anything unless he squints through the water curtain. “Would you have let her kill me?”

What a stupid question. “Of course not!”

Even smiles, and Isak is really angry at that smile right now for trying to break through his frustration. “See, I knew that.”

Isak gapes. “Then why did you _ask_?”

“I’m just saying,” Even is sounding way too casual for someone caught in between the sky and the ground. “It wouldn’t have made a difference either way, would it?”

This is definitely not a conversation they should be having on a cloud. “This is more about _trust_ than it is—”

“Isak.”

“—about whether or not it would have made a difference—”

“ _Isak_.”

“—and frankly, I thought we were – we were building a—”

“ _Isak!_ ”

“ _What_ , Even, I’m trying to have a real conversation here—” Before he can get another word in, his vision is blinded by a net, his feet are being swept from underneath him, and he’s landing unceremoniously on his bottom against what feels like hardwood. Even is pressed to his side, in about the same position, looking at Isak with a crooked smile that has _no place_ in this situation, thank you very much.

“Just wanted to warn you there was a flying ship coming our way,” Even quips, and Isak glares at him, hoping it’ll burn a hole through his head. Isak is not magic, not even in this world, so it does little else but amuse Even.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Isak groans, realizing that yes, this is definitely a ship, and it’s definitely flying, and Even’s body is pressed against his own and he can’t even _enjoy_ it properly, because Isak is too busy taking note of the four girls around them, two of whom are pointing their swords at Isak and Even. Even looks _fascinated_ , the damn star.

“They’re _pirates_ ,” he hisses at Isak, and Isak doesn’t understand how Even can say that with such enthusiasm.

“That’s not reassuring, Even,” Isak hisses back.

“Hey!” The blonde with the sword barks at them. Isak jumps slightly, and Even chuckles into his ear. Isak attributes the shiver that runs down his spine to the cold rain still falling over them, and not to the warmth of Even’s breath against his skin. “We do the talking, not you two.”

It’s not like Isak and Even were talking to _them_ , but Isak’s not going to debate this with four girls who, very obviously, have the upper hand in this situation. They’ve managed to capture Isak and Even with nothing but a net and are now pointing at them with two seemingly very sharp swords, threatening their lives.

The fact that Isak’s starting to get used to this says a lot about his night, he thinks.

The blonde girl steps closer, and the tip of her sword is suddenly pressed against Isak’s chin. “What’s your business in our skies?” she asks. Isak’s more uncomfortable than frightened, at this point. Don’t get him wrong, Isak fully believes this girl could kill him, but that’s not exactly a thought he’s letting himself linger too long on. Death’s crossed his mind more than enough times today to last him for a lifetime.

“We were taking a vacation,” Even chimes in, cheerful as ever. “We heard the stormy clouds are lovely this time of year.”

Isak sighs. God – God _damn_ it. He’s not surprised when the brunette beside the blonde, holding her own sword, digs the tip of it into Even’s chin.

“Are you Lightning Marshals?” the brunette asks them.

“Are we _what_?” Isak can’t keep up with the terminology of this place. “No, we’re just – we’re lost.”

The girls exchange a glance. “You’re lost,” the blonde deadpans. “On a cloud.”

“Yeah, it’s been A Night,” Isak snaps, hearing the frustration in his own voice. Even’s chuckling again, his forehead falling against the side of Isak’s head and nose nuzzling his hair in an attempt to hide it. Isak, for all of his misgivings up until this moment, still feels like maybe death wouldn’t be too bad if the sound of Even’s laugh is the last thing he hears.

There’s another blonde girl behind the two with the swords, who seems to chime in at just the right moment. “They look harmless,” she points out, voice loud over the rain. “Maybe we should just – I don’t know, tie them up? Wait for the Captain’s orders?”

The two girls with the swords exchange a glance, then look back at Isak and Even. Even’s shoulders are still noticeably shaking with laughter, and Isak has to purse his lips in order to hold back a laugh of his own. He doesn’t find this situation funny at all – in fact, he finds it the complete opposite of funny – but at this point, the fact that Even can still laugh at any of this is his only saving grace, and the fact that they’ve managed to be targets to a prince, a witch, and pirates in the very same night is, if nothing else, slightly amusing.

They can’t catch a break, and all they wanted was a nap.

“Don’t try anything,” the blonde with the sword warns. Isak shakes his head. He doesn’t have the energy to try anything, anyway. And he thinks that Even is too fascinated by them to want to ruin whatever plan they have in store for the two of them.

Isak just hopes that wherever they’re taken, they can have a nap.

\--

They were dragged into a room full of boxes, their hands and feet were tied to their own respective chairs, they were sat with their backs to one another, tied again by their arms, and then were left inside “until further notice”.

A very ambiguous time frame, if you ask Isak, but at least they’re not actively trying to kill them anymore.

Isak breathes out a sigh. After everything, the quiet of this room is sort of a blessing. They’re out of the rain, they’re out of – at least immediate – danger, and if nothing else, they’re miles above Sonja, whom Isak is the most scared of out of anyone they’ve encountered so far, so. He thinks he’s allowed to enjoy these few minutes, however long they’ll stretch for.

“I’m sorry,” Even breaks the silence, though it wasn’t heavy at all. His voice is quiet. “That I didn’t tell you about my heart.”

Isak huffs. “You didn’t have to,” he admits. “I was just – in shock, I guess.”

“But you told me about your mother,” Even points out. Isak clenches his jaw. “You were open with me, you let me in, and I should have extended you the same courtesy.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Even.”

Even’s silent for a moment. “But I think I do,” he laughs. “You saved my life. Twice.”

“We kind of saved each other’s,” Isak points out. “Let’s call it even, yeah?”

The back of Even’s head presses gingerly against the back of Isak’s, and Isak’s eyes close of their own accord. It’s the softest thing Isak’s felt in days. “I’ve always craved an adventure, you know,” he tells Isak suddenly.

Isak’s eyes remain closed. “Oh?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I was always – envious of all the people I saw having adventures down here. I wanted to know what they felt like, I wanted to know why their cheeks got red and I wanted to know why their hearts would race and I wanted to know what adrenaline felt like. I’ve heard epic after epic being told, and I’ve seen them all take place, and for a very long time I wanted nothing more than to be a part of it.”

Isak remains quiet for a moment. “So,” he smiles. “How are you enjoying it so far?”

Even laughs. “Been living up to par, for the most part,” he admits, and Isak joins in on his laughter. It feels nice.

“But I didn’t know how paralyzing fear could be,” he continues, voice quieting. Isak says not one word. He saw it with his own two eyes – the dimming of Even’s skin, the glass over his eyes. “And I thought I could be brave after seeing centuries and centuries of bravery, and for the most part I guess I have been, but the moment—” he frowns. “The moment Sonja wanted my heart—”

“You had every right to feel scared,” Isak interjects. “She wanted to kill you.”

“But so did Christoffer,” he points out. “And I could think clearly then.”

Isak doesn’t know exactly what to say here. Even’s right – Christoffer’s threat had been just as real as Sonja’s, and Even had been collected through the entirety of it. He’d even managed to play heroics, settling himself in front of Isak so no harm would come to him. Isak feels warm all over at the memory.

“But I guess – my heart’s a little more personal, maybe,” Isak frowns, but doesn’t say anything. “I mean, if you carve it out forcefully, you have to _eat_ it, and the thought of just anyone doing that is – I mean, it’s a little disgusting,” Even laughs, and Isak chuckles with him. “But it’s also intrusive. I know it sounds stupid, considering I’d be, y’know, pretty dead by that point, but I wouldn’t want my heart to end up in just anyone’s hands.”

Isak thinks for a moment. “So if someone good, someone who really needed everlasting life, came knocking at your door, asking you to give your heart up, you would?”

There is silence. “Yeah, maybe,” Even hums. “If they really needed it.”

Isak can’t fathom a world without Even, and he also can’t fathom a human being like Even. Maybe this is why Even’s _not_ a human being – he’s kind, he’s impulsive, he’s trusting, but he’s also centuries of knowledge and culture and stories, he’s intelligent beyond Isak’s wildest imagination and he’s good. He’s just _good_. He’s cheeky, and he’s happy, and he’s fearful of the things he can’t control, but he’s _Even_ , and Isak can’t imagine a world, an eternity, without him.

Isak bites his bottom lip. His eyes remain closed. “If I asked you not to,” he starts slowly. “If I asked you not to give your heart up to anyone – no matter how much they needed it – would you,” Isak clears his throat quietly. “Would you do it?”

The silence between them stretches for what seems like hours and hours and hours. Isak’s sure it’s only a minute until Even replies.

“I think,” he begins. His voice is deep and it’s like velvet. Isak wants it to wrap around him for as long as Even’ll let him. “If you asked me not to, I think I’d definitely consider it.”

Isak’s answering smile is small. It’s a start, anyway. More than Even would have given a day ago, he’s sure.

“Okay,” Isak whispers.

“Okay,” Even echoes.

Isak breathes a laugh. “Don’t repeat everything I say,” he teases. Even’s answering laugh is low and inviting. He can’t see Even’s face, but he bets his smile is as beautiful as ever, and all Isak can really do with their current position is brush his fingers against Even’s knuckles as a comforting gesture. Even is quick to wrap his fingers around Isak’s own in return – Isak shivers, skin burning at the contact, heart racing in response.

The back of Even’s head drops onto Isak’s shoulder. “I think I’m going to take a nap,” Even announces, and Isak can’t help the boisterous laugh that escapes him.

“Yeah, I think you deserve it,” Isak turns to look over at what he can see of Even’s face – it’s not much, mostly his hair, but he does see the glow Isak’s been imagining around him as bright as ever. It makes Isak’s stomach settle pleasantly.

“G’night,” Even mumbles. Isak chuckles quietly.

“Good night.”

\--

Isak doesn’t know at what point he falls asleep as well, but he knows that by the time he wakes up, he’s moved rooms.

His eyes are slow to open, body still muddled by sleep, and his back, wrists and ankles feel sore. He’s not even going to get started on how abused his neck feels.

There is light warming him through his now-dried clothes, and Isak turns to find the source. The sun, he realizes, through a porthole above a desk. They’d slept through the night.

They – _they_. Isak realizes, belatedly, that he doesn’t feel Even’s hands against his own any longer, nor the ropes that tied them together by their arms, which means Even is no longer sitting with his back to Isak’s. He panics for only a second, turning his head left, then right, and there—

Even, still sound asleep, and Isak immediately feels his body sag in relief. He’s tied to his own chair, but he seems completely unaware of it, eyes closed peacefully and breath slow and leveled. His head hangs loosely against his own shoulder, and Isak can’t help the small smile that takes control of his lips. He lets out a shaky breath, letting the relief spread throughout him, if only for a moment.

That’s when he’s broken from his stupor by the sound of a door slamming against the wall, which is also when Even jumps from where he sits and awakens, alarmed.

Isak wills him to look over with his gaze. “Hey,” Isak greets softly. Even’s eyes meet his own, and he seems to placate almost immediately. His shoulders slump, his lips curl upwards on one side, and Isak sees the glow of him return slightly. His heart feels tight.

“Hi,” he greets back, smile widening, and Isak can’t help the small breath of laughter that escapes him. Even here, now, tied up and at the mercy of _pirates_ , for goodness’s sake, Even manages to keep his spirits up, and, consequently, Isak’s own.

Before Isak can say anything in return, the girls from last night parade themselves across the room and in front of the two of them. The four of them are unarmed this time around, all of them with their arms crossed over their chest, but they all have different expressions on their faces.

The blonde one with the sword last night looks nothing but suspicious, yet she’s the one with the tallest posture. The brunette with the sword last night holds her weight on her left leg, eyes not as narrowed as the blonde’s, but still wary as she looks from Isak to Even and back. The shorter blonde, who’d interjected the night before, looks far more nervous than anything else, legs bouncing impatiently, while the last brunette, who hadn’t spoken at all the night before, looks rather – bored.

Isak wonders how many times they’ve done this.

“Good morning,” Even tries, and Isak glances at him in warning. Even shrugs his shoulders as much as he can.

The tallest blonde narrows her eyes at Even, but doesn’t reply. “Sana,” she calls out. “They’re up.”

Isak is confused for only a moment, but then he realizes they’re all looking to the left of Isak and Even, so the both of them look over, too.

A young woman strides inside the room, presence bigger than any of the other’s, and makes her way to the center of the four girls. The four others stand behind her, not in submission, no, but Isak thinks mostly in – protection. It’s the kind of protectiveness Isak sees in Jonas, or Magnus, or Mahdi: not the one forced upon, but rather derived from loyalty.

So this Sana must be something special, then.

Her eyes are dark in color and calculating in nature, taking in all of Isak and Even at once. Isak wants to squirm under her gaze, but wills himself not to, lest they anger her – Isak thinks she wouldn’t be a pretty sight angry.

“What,” she begins, her voice not as deep as Isak had been expecting it to be. “Were you doing in the clouds?”

Isak and Even remain quiet.

Even breaks the silence first, as per usual. “It was an accident,” he explains. “We traveled by candlelight.”

Sana levels him with a look, then looks back at Isak.

“You’re not from here,” she points out, and Isak’s a little taken aback by the declaration. “Across the wall, right? Norway.”

Isak is both impressed and wary. Impressed because she’s very possibly the only person who’s immediately taken notice to the fact Isak is not from around here, and therefore will most likely not assume he knows things that he _doesn’t_ _know_ , but wary because if she’s this perceptive, what else can she pick apart in Isak’s head?

“Yeah,” he replies weakly. “That’d be the place.”

Sana narrows her eyes, gaze shifting from Isak to Even. Even’s looking at Isak, though, which Isak more _feels_ than _sees_ , so he turns to meet Even’s gaze. He’s not glowing anymore, but he’s looking curiously at Isak – he realizes he’s never put a name to the country that he’s from, has simply been calling it _home_ , and he wonders about all the things he hasn’t told Even yet. Isak can do little else but smile reassuringly at Even – if they’re allowed the time, Isak will do his best to share more than this small piece of his life with him.

Even beams.

“And you’re a star,” Sana suddenly points out. Even goes rigid, gaze shifting slowly to Sana’s. Isak, in contrast, snaps his head quickly towards her, alarmed.

Sana looks at the both of them evenly. “What?”

“How did you know?” Isak can’t help the question that pushes past his lips. He knows he should have maybe started by denying it, maybe by playing dumb, but Sana doesn’t seem like the kind of person who takes kindly to games – or to lies, for that matter, and she most definitely does not seem like the kind of person to fall for Isak’s theatrics.

Sana scoffs, her expression near-disbelieving. “You’re kidding me, right?” she shakes her head. “He shines every time you so much as _smile_ at him. He gives himself away very easily.”

Shines? Isak looks over to Even, who seems to be pointedly looking at anything but Isak.

He _shines_. So, the glow Isak’s been seeing around Even since he met him – not a mind trick?

“You need to learn how to control your emotions,” Sana points at Even, whose eyes are narrowed now. “Else you’ll give yourself away to any old idiot on the street.”

“You’re not going to try to take my heart?” Even asks incredulously.

“No,” Sana raises an eyebrow. “No one on this ship will harm you.”

Isak wants to circle back to the shine thing. “So wait,” he begins, and Sana turns to look at him once again. “You’re saying that Even shines because – of what he feels?”

Sana nods. “I’ve been dealing in the looting business for a long time,” Sana explains. “You learn how to find what you’re looking for.”

“And to find stars, you look for their shine,” Isak is trying to understand this. He’s not sure he’s still past the revelation that he hasn’t, in fact, been going insane, and that the glow around Even has always _physically_ been there.

“Yes,” Sana is being incredibly patient with him. “But some are better-hidden than others: those who learn how to control their emotions. So there are tricks to draw them out,” she explains. “Inviting them for a meal, for example, making them feel welcome, safe. The happier they are, the more they shine.”

Even is squirming beside him, a little uncomfortably. Isak hardly notices. “And anything that’s not happy—”

“They don’t,” Sana nods. “Neutral makes them look like any other human. Negative feelings – sadness, anger, fear – makes them dimmer than usual.”

Isak is learning so much. And everything – everything is starting to make so much more sense than before. “But you – you said you don’t want his heart,” Isak points out. “So how do you know so much about how to find stars?”

“I said I’ve been in the business a long time,” Sana replies, rolling her eyes. “You learn things. Doesn’t mean you have to lose your humanity,” Sana gestures behind her, to the four other girls. “We don’t deal in murder.”

“It’s ugly,” the shorter blonde pipes up, distaste clear on her face. “You can deal in illegal things without, you know, _dealing_ in illegal things.”

The brunette beside her – the one that had held the sword to Even’s chin last night – looks over at her fondly.

“What I want to know, before we release you from your restraints,” Sana continues to explain. “Is how you managed to find yourself on a cloud.”

We’re back to this, Isak thinks. “A witch was trying to take his heart,” Isak finally caves. “The only way we could get away was with – with a Babylon candle—”

The brunette sans sword last night suddenly looks anything but bored. “A Babylon candle?” she asks, stepping forward. “Give us that and we’ll let you go right now.”

“Chris,” Sana says warningly. Chris looks over at Sana and shrugs at her unapologetically.

Isak deflates. “We’ve used it all up,” he explains, and then – he looks over at Even, suddenly realizing what this means. “Oh, fuck, Even—”

Even shakes his head at Isak, smiling crookedly at him. Outwardly he looks collected, but Isak can see the hint of ruefulness resting on his lips. “You had to do it,” he nods. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not, that was your ticket home—” And not to mention the only reason he was even coming along with Isak, so this could – this could mean Even could leave Isak, back out of their agreement with no honor lost, and Isak doesn’t know which makes him sadder: the idea that Even may never find his way home, or the idea that Isak may never see Even again. He knows he can’t have one without the other, but at least with the former, Isak would know he could look up and not feel as though he’s lost him entirely – with the latter, Isak would know nothing of the sort.

Fate’s a cruel bitch, he decides.

Sana looks between the two of them. “You were going to use the Babylon candle to get back to the sky,” she deduces. Even’s gaze shifts to Sana. He nods solemnly.

The taller blonde suddenly looks sympathetic. “Sorry,” she offers Even. Even shrugs his shoulders, as if the news didn’t affect him. Isak feels drenched in regret.

“We used it, and I told him to think of home, and he thought of his home and I—” Isak drifts off.

“You thought of yours,” Sana finishes for him. Isak swallows, eyes suddenly burning. He’s a fucking idiot, he’s so angry at himself, he can’t believe he’s let Even down like this, he can’t believe he’s taken his only ticket home and now Even will have to live with the uncertainty of whether or not he’ll ever see the skies again.

“Hey,” Even’s voice is soft to the right of him. Isak almost doesn’t turn to meet his gaze, but when he does, there’s nothing but kindness looking back at him. Isak _hates_ that Even isn’t angry. “Don’t worry, alright? I’ll still come with you to see Emma.”

Isak backtracks. “What?”

Even tilts his head. “I won’t leave, okay? You can still take me to her, and then I’ll figure it out afterwards.”

Isak – Isak hadn’t even _thought_ about Emma, he hasn’t spared her a single thought that hasn’t been brought up by pure chance, and she’s seriously not his biggest concern right now. There’s a – there’s a pang of _something_ , that makes way to Isak’s chest, he can’t put his finger on it, can’t actually – he can’t put a name to it, but he doesn’t like it, and he’s about to tell Even as much, but then Sana’s interrupting.

“Who’s Emma?” she asks.

Even looks back at Sana. Isak can’t help but keep looking at Even.

“His beloved,” he explains, lazy smile in place. Isak doesn’t buy it one bit. “She wanted a star as her engagement ring.”

“Oh, did she?” Sana sounds amused. “And you’re taking _him_ to her?” One of the girls behind Sana snorts quietly – Isak thinks it’s Even’s first captor, the brunette. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Isak huffs, offended. “Just to show her that stars aren’t, you know, celestial rocks, like we both thought,” his wrists squirm against the ropes tying them together. “And anyway, it doesn’t—”

“You offered him a Babylon candle in exchange?” the shorter blonde asks. Isak sighs. He doesn’t feel like launching into this story. He sags against his restraints.

Even, on the other hand, seems all too happy to explain their situation. And so he launches into the story, complete with their first meeting – explaining that Isak is actually a lot heavier than he looks – to the entire day they spent walking through the forest, enthusiastically explaining that Isak likes to sing but hasn’t actually shown Even if he _can_ , and then he tells them about finding the inn conveniently placed in the middle of nowhere, and he talks about the prince looking for the amulet that now rests heavily inside Isak’s pocket, with his mother’s flower, and he goes on and on and on and Isak can do nothing else but watch as Even grows more and more animated throughout the telling of the story, see his shine brighten and dim at certain points of it, study his face and his expressions closely, memorizing them, wondering if he’ll ever find someone as beautiful, as extraordinary.

When he’s finished, there’s an array of emotions amongst the girls – Sana, as usual, seems pensive, the shorter blonde seems excited, the taller blonde looks reluctantly impressed, while Chris and the other brunette look nothing but amused.

Even looks over at Isak. “And now we’re here, at your mercy,” he concludes neatly.

Sana nods at the tallest blonde, who takes this as an instruction. She pulls a small dagger from her coat and walks towards Isak and Even, gently cutting through their restraints.

Isak feels instant relief. He brings his arms forward, rubbing at each of his wrists as quickly as he can, and he looks at the angry redness coating them. Even’s hand reaches towards one of Isak’s wrists, brows furrowed. His thumb strokes it tenderly. Isak feels the touch in every single edge of him.

“Yours are looking a lot worse for wear than mine,” Even points out. Isak shrugs.

“I move a lot in my sleep.”

Even smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the sides. “I know.”

Isak stares at him for as long as the silence in the room stretches, until finally, someone clears their throat.

They both blink, and turn to look at the girls.

Sana looks softer than before. “If you’re intent on finishing your trip back home,” Sana says. “Then we can take you as far as Port Lindrent. That’s about a three day trip, including a couple of stops on our way,” she shrugs. “We have to sell our goods.”

Isak looks at her in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

Sana nods. “From there, it should be about a day’s trip on foot, at most.”

So they’d make it right on time. A day early, even.

“Just like that?” Isak presses.

Sana shakes her head. “You’d have to earn your keep on the ship, just like everyone else,” Sana’s voice is firm. “But other than that, we’ll ask nothing in return.”

Isak laughs in relief, the kindness shown by these girls – these pirates, as it were – completely unimaginable, even when being faced with it. They’ve been stretched far too thin, and this – this is maybe the only glimpse he’s had at the world his father had marveled at when he first told Isak the story of his mother. “Thank you,” Isak says, in earnest. Even echoes the sentiment.

“We have to be careful, though,” Sana holds up a hand. “Sonja is most likely keeping an eye out for you. Witches can track stars – they have their ways. For the time being, Even is safe,” she nods at Even. “Because they can’t track them above ground. But as soon as we hit deck, he’ll be easy to track again.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Isak’s head is running about a mile a minute with all of this new information. He’s taking it all in, but the more he’s fed, the more overwhelmed he feels. “The good news is our stops are short and busy. She’d have to find you in a crowd, so we’re going to have to clean you up and make you as unrecognizable as possible.”

Isak furrows his brows. “And how will we do that, exactly?”

Sana gestures towards the shorter blonde, who seems about to burst in excitement. “Vilde will take care of it,” the blonde – Vilde – bounces happily, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“Don’t worry,” Vilde’s voice leaves no room for Isak to argue whether or not he should be, anyway. “It won’t be anything _too_ drastic, just enough for you guys to blend in with the townspeople.”

Even smiles gratefully at Vilde. “Thank you, Vilde,” his voice is kind and low, and Vilde blushes.

Yeah, Isak knows that feeling very well.

The brunette beside Vilde rolls her eyes, takes Vilde by the hand. “Come on,” she tugs her towards the door. “Let’s go find them some clothes from the bin.”

Vilde waves at Isak and Even excitedly. “Noora will bring you to us when you’re ready,” she calls out, and then she’s being whisked out the door.

Isak can only deduce the last remaining blonde is Noora. She regards Isak evenly, before seemingly allowing herself to smile. “Okay,” she sighs, looks over at Sana. “Do you mind if I feed them first? They look terrible.”

Isak thought Noora was, perhaps, the scariest of them all – aside from Sana – but her expression has turned kind throughout their conversation and she looks genuinely – if quietly – concerned about their health as it stands. Isak thinks he can understand this; Jonas does the same thing, interestingly, when someone tries to size Isak up back home. Jonas is usually a very amicable guy, can get along with just about anyone, but if someone seemed to want to start something with Isak, about his family, or – God forbid – his relationship with Emma, his posture would turn as rigid as his expression, and he would not let up until he was sure said person meant Isak no harm.

He thinks he sees the same in Noora – she looks kind, but tired, Isak thinks, and he wonders what she’s been dealing with, before all of this. Before them.

Isak remembers something like empathy making way into her expression during Even’s story – he tries to pinpoint it now, but can’t exactly remember. He feels like maybe she relates a lot more to Even than to Isak, though.

“Yes, of course,” Sana nods towards Isak and Even. “You can go with her. She’ll cook something for you.”

Even jumps up happily at the words, while Isak stands a little more warily.

Noora looks at him, then rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “I won’t try to poison you,” she walks past the both of them, gesturing for them to follow. “But I hope you like potatoes, because it’s about all we’ve got at the moment.”

Isak _does_ like potatoes, actually. Very much. He doesn’t tell her this, of course, because he doesn’t want to seem _too_ eager (Isak’s still half sure he’s going to wake up at any moment now, realize it’s all been a pleasant dream) but as he drags his feet behind her, Even takes note of the small smile that’s snuck onto Isak’s lips.

Even’s own smile curls at his lips. He’s shining, and Isak can’t believe that shine is real, that shine is for him. “I don’t know if I like them,” Even replies, a little belatedly. “But I have a feeling I will.”

\-- 

Even does end up liking potatoes, after all.

And Noora. Even’s taken a strange liking to Noora. He’ll ask her question after question after question about food, about the cooking process and about ingredients and about dishes he’s only ever seen, never tasted, and Noora will reply to him patiently, kindly.

Even asks how she knows so much about food. Noora’s face turns a little rueful, but it comes and goes quickly. “I had to learn to fend for myself when I was very young,” she shrugs, as if the fact does not bother her. There’s an edge to her tone, though, that both Isak and Even catch – causing them to exchange a sympathetic glance. “But it was good, I think. I moved around a lot and learned to do many things.”

“Like what?” Even asks eagerly.

And Noora launches off into all the things she’s learned to do throughout the years: she’s learned to cook, of course, all kinds of things, (“Parfaits!” Even grins over at Isak at the revelation. “She knows how to make parfaits!”) and she’s learned to fight, (“Savvy with a sword, a dagger and my fists,” Noora smirks. Even is fascinated; Isak’s a little alarmed), and she’s learned to play the fiddle and the piano and the banjo, (Even’s shine is particularly blinding on this one. He turns to look at Isak excitedly, smile so big it almost leaves his face entirely. “I love fiddle music,” he tells Isak, and Isak’s not a very big fan, but with a smile that big Isak thinks he can learn to like just about anything), and she’s learned how to sing and how to dance and she’s heard the greatest storytellers tell their tales and she’s been across the wall a time or two, learned the basics of many languages.

Noora has learned many things, been to many places, and still, Isak thinks she looks a little ripped at the edges.

He won’t pry, though, because he knows everyone has their demons; Isak knows this better than anyone, in fact.

When they’ve finished eating and Noora’s exhausted just about all of her stories (Even will always push for one more, and she’ll indulge him, but even Isak can tell you can only beat a dead horse so many times), she tells them it’s probably time for them to find Vilde and Eva. Eva, it appears, is the Other Brunette, the last remaining nameless face, and that – makes Isak feel a little better, he thinks. Having names for every single one of the women on this ship, that is. Makes it less of a mystery than before, makes him feel safer than when he knew them all as the pirates who’d captured them and probably wanted to kill them.

Noora leads them out of the kitchen and down the hallway, Even practically bouncing behind her. He turns to Isak and grins brightly. “I would just like to remind you we’re on an actual pirate ship,” Even tells Isak as they follow Noora down some steps and into another room. “A real _actual_ pirate ship.”

Isak laughs as brightly as Even smiles, shaking his head. “You know they could have easily killed us last night, right?”

“He’s not wrong,” Eva’s walking up to them from the back corner of the room they’ve just entered, looking amused. Noora smiles kindly at her and at Vilde, who’s practically vibrating with excitement beside her. “You were kind of at our mercy.”

Even holds a hand to his chest. “I would have been honored to die at your hand.”

The girls look at him, slightly incredulous, before Vilde bursts out into giggles.

“I think he’s serious,” she laughs. “He’s so cute.”

Eva rolls her eyes and holds out a hand for Even to take. “Alright, charmer, c’mon,” she folds her fingers inwards. “You’re with me.”

Even happily takes the hand offered to him and looks over at Isak. He hesitates momentarily, then, casting a wary glance towards Eva, who rolls her eyes one more time. “You’ll literally be apart for half an hour, at _most_ ,” she tells him, and Isak blushes at her insinuation. “You can survive without each other for half an hour.”

Isak scoffs, acting as if he doesn’t know what she’s implying, even though he can feel his face heating up. He avoids Even’s gaze, in case he finds he’s not actually looking back, and scratches at his eyebrow awkwardly when he locks eyes with Eva. “We’ll be fine, thanks,” his voice is a little scratchy, but he clears it of any misuse, then pockets his hands in his coat. His fingers find his mother’s glass flower, trace the outer workings of it in an attempt to relax himself. “We’re just, you know – it’s a foreign ship, and we haven’t really—”

“Eva, come on,” Vilde interrupts Isak. “You heard about their adventures! I think it’s a little understandable that they’re wary of us,” she looks over at Isak and smiles. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” she promises. “You’ll stay here with me, and once I’m done with your hair and your clothes, you’ll be right back with your star over here,” she beams over at Even, whom Isak finally turns to look at, as well, and he’s smiling down at Vilde in return. “It’s just easier if Eva and I work in separate rooms.”

Isak narrows his eyes. “Why?” he asks, considering all three girls.

Noora snorts. “They tend to get distracted,” she clears her throat. “By each other.”

Both Eva and Vilde blush scarlet red, and Isak’s face clears with understanding right about the same time as Even’s. There’s a moment where all five of them are silent, before Even breaks it with a boisterous laugh.

Isak’s stomach does that funny thing it’s been doing these past two days, and after one last exchange of glances, Eva’s pulling Even up the steps and out of the room, muttering under her breath. Even manages to wave clumsily at Isak, and Isak, stupid as ever, waves lamely back.

When they’re good and gone, Noora turns to look at Isak. “Okay,” she smiles. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she nods at Isak. “If you need anything, come to me, alright?” Her eyebrows rise. “Sana’s busy with the shipments, so she might not be able to help you as much right now.”

Isak nods solemnly. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters. Noora’s smile is crooked but kind, and she leaves the room in less of a rush than Eva and Even, but the lack of her presence is just as prominent as the former two’s. He’s left alone with Vilde, then, who’s about two heads shorter than him, even standing as straight as she is now, and who’s looking happily up at him.

“Uhm,” Isak squirms uncomfortably. “So—”

“Come here,” Vilde turns around so abruptly it takes Isak a little by surprise, but he drags his feet towards where she stops in front of a large mirror and a lone chair. She turns to look at Isak as she pats the back of the chair invitingly, grin so large Isak thinks it might break her skin. “Sit,” she commands, and Isak’s not very keen on being ordered around by a tiny blonde, but then he remembers Eva’s looming presence over her and he decides not to push it.

He sits, and Vilde hums happily as she reaches towards the desk in front of the mirror to grab a comb and a spray-bottle of water. “You have so much hair,” she tells him, back turned to him. “Do you have no one to cut it at home?”

Isak furrows his brows. “Does it matter?” he asks, voice a little snippy. Vilde glances back at him, eyebrow raised.

“Just trying to make conversation, Isak,” her voice is soft and patient, and then she turns around, making her way behind Isak with the spray-bottle and comb in her hands. “It’ll get very boring very quickly if we don’t talk to each other.”

Isak makes a face that looks unpleasant when it reflects back to him in the mirror. “I feel like you could talk enough for the both of us.”

Vilde furrows her brows as she begins spraying water onto Isak’s hair. “You don’t even know me.” It’s a quiet statement, but it’s firm and holds some fire behind it, as if she’s heard this enough times to know this particular fact about herself is either not true or should not be an insult. Isak isn’t going to sit here and pretend to want to find out which one is the truth.

“I just like the quiet, Vilde,” he snaps, a little impatiently. “I don’t get it much, not here, not where I’m from, and I’m kinda missing it.”

Vilde hums noncommittally, parting Isak’s now-wet hair with the comb. “You sound like you’re absolutely no fun at parties,” she says matter-of-factly, and Isak’s mouth hangs open at the words.

“I’m a _riot_ at parties,” he sniffs defensively. “Everyone – everyone’s practically begging me to show up to their parties, because I’m – the life of them,” Isak finishes the lie lamely, unsure if he’d even been trying to make it sound true in the first place.

Vilde meets his gaze through the mirror. “Okay,” she smiles encouragingly, and Isak is annoyed that she’s obviously patronizing him by trying to humor him. “If nothing else, then I’m sure your Emma thinks you’re a lot of fun at them.”

Isak’s face turns a little sour. “Yep,” he pops the ‘p’, trying for excited, but falling somewhere between disdainful and defeated.

“Are you excited to marry her?” Vilde follows up, and Isak looks at her solemnly.

“Sure,” he mutters. “Why not?”

Vilde bites her bottom lip, carefully avoiding Isak’s gaze in the mirror. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping,” Vilde says, combing at his hair, sounding not sorry at all. “But you don’t sound very enthused.”

Isak stares at himself in the mirror, tired. He shrugs. “Where I’m from, you just kinda have to do what you have to do.”

Vilde pauses what she’s doing, looking up. “That doesn’t sound very fair,” she furrows her brows. “You should be marrying for love, not because you ‘have to do what you have to do’. What do you mean by that, anyway?”

Isak stays quiet for a moment. In this moment, Vilde walks around the chair once again and allows herself to set the spray-bottle down on the desk, switching it for a pair of scissors. When she’s back behind Isak, Isak thinks he’s got an answer for her. “Where I’m from, you have nothing if you don’t have status,” he explains quietly. “Emma set her sights on me – someone of very little status, alright, and I have to take advantage of that.” He clears his throat. “I should feel lucky.”

Vilde starts snipping at the ends of Isak’s hair. “That sounds rehearsed,” she observes. “Have people been telling you that back home?”

Isak scowls. “It’s the truth,” he snaps, a little defensive now. “Emma’s the most beautiful of all the girls back home, every man wants her hand in marriage, but she chose me. I should feel lucky,” he repeats one more time, this time with more feeling, more drive behind the words, to convince Vilde, and in the process, maybe convince himself, too.

Vilde continues clipping as she talks. “Did you know that I was also engaged before Eva?” she asks.

Isak purses his lips. “No, why would I know that?”

Vilde ignores his quip. “A very handsome boy. His name was Alexander, and I thought I liked him, I really did. Everyone _told_ me I liked him, and I guess at some point, I started believing it, too. And my home, oh, it sounds much like yours, actually,” Vilde combs through Isak’s hair, clipping some more. “There was a certain way to live your life, right? You find your perfect match, you marry, you start a family, you contribute to the town’s status,” she bites the inside of her cheek. Isak watches her through the mirror. “And that was the goal! Just how much could you contribute to the town’s wealth, to its status. We were all so obsessed about what everyone else thought of us,” she scoffs. “We wanted everyone else to like us so badly, we were so worried about what other people would say if we broke from the norm, I don’t think we were ever happy. And, ironically enough, I don’t think any of us had good opinions of ourselves, let alone anyone _else_.”

She’s quiet for a minute or two, concentrating on her work, and Isak’s leg starts bouncing impatiently. He doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s interested, but that doesn’t mean that he’s _not_ , and after another entire minute of silence he decides to cave. “Why did you leave?” he blurts, and Vilde’s smile is small but triumphant.

“I was unhappy,” she meets his gaze through the mirror momentarily before turning back to her work on Isak’s hair. “I did try my very best to fit in, to be what everyone else wanted me to be, but I was never truly happy. And then I met Sana and the girls, by pure chance!” she laughs quietly. “And Eva – Eva was so beautiful, you know? And she was exciting, and Sana was so brave and she showed me that the world was not black and white. She taught me that sacrificing my happiness for the sake of others is not the way to live, taught me that my town was merely a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things,” Vilde clips, clips, clips away.

“She showed me just how very little people cared for us in actuality. Can you believe that?” Vilde glances at Isak. “My hometown’s entire mantra was to be perfect so that everyone else in the kingdom would love us, and it turns out we’re nothing. Not even a passing comment in a conversation. We could have been doing what makes us happy for centuries, but, well,” Vilde clears her throat. “Pardon my language, but everyone’s head was stuck so far up their asses they couldn’t see this.

“I made my family very angry the day I told them I was leaving with the girls,” she sounds a little rueful at this part. “But they – they’re enough for me,” she smiles brightly. “They’re my family, now.”

Isak licks his lips. “So what are you saying?” he asks her, although Isak thinks he knows exactly what Vilde’s saying.

Vilde seems to finish up the work she’s done on Isak’s hair. “I’m saying that it seems so silly, in retrospect, that I ever thought what people thought of me had any bearing on my happiness,” she tells him. “It doesn’t. They can talk all they want about me, but as long as I’m happy, then why does it matter?”

Isak doesn’t have the strength to look Vilde in the eyes, so his gaze is glued to a stain on the floor, instead, and she leaves him be for a minute or two, obviously pretending to be busy tidying up the desk, sweeping up the floor. Isak meets his own solemn gaze in the mirror, notices the shortness of his hair a little detachedly, and he wonders if he’s ever felt true happiness at home.

He has, he thinks. He’s felt true happiness when he’s with his father, when they do nothing but talk of old tales and hopes for the future. He’s felt true happiness when he’s with his best friends, not a single care in the world, the only worry weighing on their shoulders is what tavern they’d end up in next. He’s felt true happiness when he lies on his field of grass, looks up at the stars and lets their mystery consume him.

Isak realizes that he’s felt true happiness only when he’s not thinking about what other people may have to say about him – when he’s not worrying about his status, or the bearing it might have on his father. He’s felt true happiness these past two days, with Even by his side, his smile as bright as the sun, his approach to every new discovery refreshing.

Vilde’s looking at him a little pointedly. Isak looks up to meet her heavy gaze, only to narrow his eyes at her. “What?” he snaps. Vilde grins.

“Nothing,” she sings. “Are you ready for your wardrobe change?”

Isak looks down at his dirty clothes, then back up at Vilde with a loud sigh. “I guess,” he mutters, though he’s a little more excited than he’s letting on – if only just because these clothes are starting to feel uncomfortable, and the amulet and glass flower feel a little heavier in worn-down clothing.

“Vilde?”

“Yes?” she smiles at Isak.

“Is there any way I can take a bath first?”

\--

So it takes a little more than half an hour for Isak and Even to reunite, and he’s absolutely not pouting about it, if that’s what you’re thinking. Sure, Isak misses him a tiny little bit, but that’s only to be expected – they’ve been through so much together in such a short amount of time, it’d be weird if he _didn’t_ miss Even a tiny little bit. But he’s not “being dramatic”, as Vilde’s so kindly pointed out this past hour and a half, because he’s a grown man and he can absolutely control his emotions and conceal them just as well.

And this is what he keeps telling himself until Even walks back inside the room, and suddenly all of those thoughts are completely banished from his mind, much like every other coherent thought he could possibly form in the next decade.

Even’s always been beautiful. Isak _knows_ this, he’s already _accepted_ this, but now, faced with this Even – freshly bathed, hair artistically styled back, in clothing that fits him far more snugly than whatever the hell Sonja had offered them at the inn – Isak’s caught off guard once again, breath caught in his throat, mouth parted uselessly. Even is _beautiful_ , absolutely beautiful, and he once again feels cheated and lied to. No, his town does not know what true beauty is, because they have not taken one look at what Isak’s looking at right now; they’re so deprived, and Isak pities them.

But he also wants this all for his own.

Even smiles at him, and he looks as out of breath as Isak feels. “Isak,” he breathes. His blue eyes shine brighter than the sky outside, and Isak’s toes curl inward at the sound of Even’s voice.

“Hi,” Isak tries lamely, and Even laughs breathily as he steps closer to him. Isak can feel his heart racing in his ears, hears nothing but white noise and Even’s voice.

“Hi,” Even breathes in reply. Isak is helpless against him, against his gaze, and he feels like his stomach is being swallowed by the ground, and he feels like his eyes will never find a more beautiful sight than the eyes he’s looking into now, and, God, does this feel _wild_ , absolutely foreign, but the longer Even looks at him like this, the longer Isak wants to stay rooted where he is, pretend like there’s nowhere else either of them have to be, nowhere they have to return to.

Even is shining so brightly it’s blinding, but Isak manages to look anyway, _forces_ himself to look, in fact, refuses to let himself look away, lest he miss a single second of Even.

Someone coughs.

Instantly, both Even and Isak step backwards and look towards the direction of the intruding sound, only to find all of the girls sans Sana standing in formation, staring at them expectantly.

Isak’s entire face heats up painfully. He clears his throat. “Erm,” he says intelligently. He looks at his feet. “Uhm, so,” he swallows. He doesn’t remember whether they were all there when Even walked in or not, and he’s too embarrassed to ask and admit to it. “Uh—”

“That was intense,” Chris interrupts loudly, and Noora elbows her in the gut. “What?” Chris frowns at her. “We were all thinking it.”

Isak’s face feels like it’s on fire. He doesn’t dare glance at Even to compare expressions, instead keeps his eyes glued to the ground.

“Anyway,” Noora speaks over the deafening silence. “We were going to show you around the ship, show you what you’ll be doing to earn your keep for the next three days, but, uhm,” she clears her throat. “If you, ah – if you need a minute—”

“Or two,” Eva snickers under her breath.

“If you _need a minute_ ,” Noora’s voice heightens in both pitch and volume, and Isak catches her throwing a warning look at Eva through his peripheral. “We’ll be more than happy to wait outside.”

Isak and Even are both very, very quiet.

Noora clears her throat. “Okay,” she nods quickly. “We’ll be up on deck, uh, whenever you’d like to join us,” she starts shooing the rest of the girls up the steps and out into the hallway. “Don’t take longer than ten minutes, though, because then we’ll have to come down and find you, and—”

“No one wants to face _that_ embarrassment,” Eva calls out from outside the hallway, and Isak hears Chris and Vilde snort with her. Noora hushes them quickly, and closes the door behind them.

Isak’s face still feels hot.

Even’s bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of him, and Isak can only tell because that’s the only thing he can look at without bursting into flames at the moment, but eventually he figures he has to face the music: he looks up and meet Even’s blue gaze once more, and his expression looks so relieved Isak can’t help but feel the same way.

“I like your coat,” Even breaks the silence the only way Isak thinks he knows how: by being kind, his words bright and happy. “It’s darker than mine.”

Isak eyes Even’s navy blue tailcoat, gold buttons standing out against it, Even’s eyes looking impossibly bluer in contrast. The vest underneath it is white laced in small gold patterns, and it fits Even snugly and keeps his necktie secure around his neck, and Isak thinks that if Eva’s goal was to make Even fit in, she’s landed somewhere far away from it; Isak doesn’t think Even can do anything but stand out in this get-up, thinks anyone would be able to pick him out from a crowd miles away.

Isak thinks that maybe he’s been quiet for too long, because Even continues to babble nervously. “I’m glad they didn’t use one of those top hats on you,” he gestures lamely towards Isak’s hair. “I mean, I’m a little sad they cut some of your hair, but it still looks good. At least you’re not hiding it. Is it still soft?” Even’s hand rises as if to run itself through Isak’s hair again, like the first time they met, but then he seems to think better of it. “Never mind,” Even’s hand falls back to his side. “Doesn’t matter.”

Smiling softly, Isak runs his own hand through his hair. “I think it is,” he hums. “You’re, uh, welcome to feel.”

They stare at each other for a moment, before Isak sees Even exhale a little shakily. He brings his hand up towards Isak’s hair and softly lets his fingers tangle in it, strokes it as softly as Isak imagines one would caress their lover, and it takes everything in Isak’s power not to let his eyes flutter shut and lean into the touch as much as his body’s willing to let him.

“Yep,” Even’s voice is quiet. “Still soft.”

His hand remains softly wrapped around the back of Isak’s hair, and Isak doesn’t think his heart has raced this fast in all of his life, not even when he and the boys had to run from Old Man Erikson after trespassing into his yard and being caught, knowing full well about his connections to the law.

Isak clears his throat in an attempt to clear his head, too. “Uhm,” he licks his lips. “We should go meet the girls outside, right?” he looks at Even a little pleadingly. “I don’t think – uh, I don’t think we should keep them waiting.”

Even blinks out of his stupor and takes his hand back, and Isak almost hates the fact that he’s aware his shine is defined by his emotions, because suddenly he’s not shining as brightly, barely shining at all. “Yeah,” his voice manages to sound happy, anyway, like none of this is having any effect on him. “Yeah, we probably should.”

\--

Isak doesn’t know what he expected working on a pirate ship would be like, but it certainly didn’t include this much _cleaning_.

Sana hardly ever comes out of her quarters, and the girls tell Isak and Even it’s mostly due to her inspecting every single one of their shipments thoroughly; nothing gets past Sana, not a single flaw. Isak asked Eva what Sana did if she did find a flaw, and Eva told him nothing, if it was theirs, but she would rather not get into what Sana would do if it was something sold to _them_.

Isak and Even are helping wash the deck when Even perks up with a question. “What are Lightning Marshals?”

Isak glances at Even, who’s looking at the girls expectantly.

Eva’s the one who responds, polishing at the ship’s sides. “They make sure no one steals the lightning bolts during a storm,” she explains. “Like us.”

Even’s brows furrow. He sits back on his knees, taking a break from furiously wiping at the floor, and Isak’s a little bitter he can get away with it. “Why can’t you steal the lightning bolts? They don’t belong to anyone, do they?”

Noora takes this one. “Lightning bolts are, uh, an illegal weapon,” she explains to him. Isak glances up at her. “They were barred from the kingdom years ago.”

“But there’s still a market for them,” Chris calls from the other side of the ship. “Just like there’s a market for every illegal thing out there, my friends. People desperately want what they can’t have.”

“And it’s not rare we get lightning storms,” Noora continues. “That’s how the kingdom got its name, obviously. That’s why they got banned as weapons – they were easy to buy, easy to cause damage with. So the kingdom set up the Lightning Marshal Unit, and if anyone is caught stealing the lightning, their sentence is by no means a light one.

“Which obviously means there’s an even _heavier_ demand for lightning, and very few people willing to risk their freedom to _meet_ said demand. So we try to be the first up there, to trap them in our steel barrels.”

“And then you sell them?” Even asks.

“Yes,” Noora nods. “Then we sell them.”

“How much do they go for, usually?” Even’s not doing any of the scrubbing now, and yes, Isak may very well think Even is the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, but he thinks it’s a little unfair that he’s getting away with not doing any of the work while Isak is still moving forward periodically to wash every last bit of floor board.

Vilde perks up at this question. “Depends on the bolts,” she tells him. “The one we caught is ten thousand,” she sounds excited. “That has to go for at _least_ two-hundred guineas.”

Isak looks up at the word guineas. “Guineas?” he asks. “Like the British currency?”

Vilde nods enthusiastically at him. “Yes! Just like Great Britain. Most of our visitors come from there,” she explains. “Stormhold adopted its currency.”

Isak frowns. “But the pound replaced the guinea decades ago.”

Vilde shrugs. “The kingdom is stuck in its ways, what can I say?”

Isak tries to keep up with everything he knows. So far, what he knows about the currency is that his speciedaler would be worthless here, they deal in an outdated British currency, and for some reason, witch currency is taboo but probably the only currency Isak can deal in, where he stands now.

“It won’t be worth as much if it’s not fresh, though,” Eva chimes in. “Which is why we’re stopping at Port Orstrelle soon. If we don’t sell it while it’s fresh, the value goes down, and eventually the whole endeavor would have been pointless.”

“How do they know if it’s not fresh?” Even asks. Isak huffs. He’s full of curiosity and questions and Isak admires him for it – but the _cleaning_.

“The crackling, usually,” Noora replies. She’s sweeping at the opposite side of the deck. “The more it crackles, the more damage it does. The less it crackles, the less damage it does – that means it’s losing its juice.”

“And eventually it dies out,” Vilde adds. “Lightning can’t be kept dormant in a barrel for too long. If you want it to make any sort of damage, then you’ve got to let it strike while it’s hot.”

“And people fight with it here?” Even sounds scandalized. “Just for – for what? Fun?”

Noora shakes her head. “Not here,” she says. “There’s no war in Stormhold. The demand comes from outlying kingdoms,” she tells him. “Those truly at war. There’s no lightning more powerful than the bolts from Stormhold; even the most respectable of kingdoms will find themselves dealing in the black market if it means they get to use our bolts as weapons.”

“And you sell them to the kingdoms?”

“No, to a Middle Man,” Noora replies. “We are never in direct communication with anyone from outlying kingdoms. We are paid by a Middle Man, and they deal with the rest.”

“We just steal and collect, my friend,” Chris says. “And we never ask questions.”

The makings of a good pirate, Isak thinks.

Even looks a little lost in thought, and Isak’s had enough of being the only one washing the deck, so he throws his soap-filled sponge at Even’s face. The blonde sputters, surprised, then looks over at Isak with a betrayed expression on his face.

“ _Isak_ ,” he gasps scandalously. “When all I’ve been is _nice_ to you—”

Isak reaches for his sponge again and starts scrubbing. “Stop trying to be slick and start scrubbing,” Isak tells him, but there’s a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “You can ask all of your God damned questions later.”

Isak doesn’t look up to see Even’s expression, but he hears an indignant sniff, and quiet laughter from the girls.

Even doesn’t stop asking questions, but at least he cleans while he does so now, and Isak tries desperately to make his expression look far less fond than what it’s trying to look like the entire time.

\--

Port Orstrelle is attached to a town called Kose, and it’s a small, cozy town with happy people bustling about. Sana tells the girls to stay with the ship, enlisting Isak and Even’s help carrying the barrel towards the Middle Man’s shop, but before they can make it off deck, Sana stops them both.

“Keep your head down,” she mutters. “Remember Sonja can track you again down here. Stick with me, and we’ll be in and out of there in no time, alright?”

Even looks slightly frightened. Isak reaches over and squeezes his wrist in a comforting gesture. Even looks over at him, and Isak offers him a small smile.

“I won’t let her take your heart, alright?” he teases, and Even laughs quietly.

Sana looks between the two of them. “Maybe you should stay behind,” she tells Isak. Isak blinks, then scowls. Sana holds up a hand. “He shines too brightly around you, Isak. He’ll give himself away in an instant.”

“I’m not leaving him alone,” Isak snaps. “We either both stay on the ship, or we both go with you.”

“He’s safer with me,” Sana’s reply is calm and collected. “I know you don’t understand that yet, but he is. If you stay behind—”

“I don’t want him to,” Even suddenly admits. Both Isak and Sana turn to look at him. “I’ll try to keep my shine quiet, okay? But I want him to come with,” Even raises an eyebrow at Sana. “Please?”

Sana looks at him for a moment, then sighs. “Fine,” she says, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “Just – don’t look at him, or something.”

Isak blushes.

The steel barrel Sana’s making them carry is surprisingly heavy for something that’s meant to be carrying a lightning bolt. Isak will be the first to admit he’s not sure how much a lightning bolt weighs, of course, but he thinks it should be considerably less than _this_.

Even doesn’t seem to be too bothered by the weight – he’s too busy taking the entirety of the town in, his expression one of wonder, and Isak wonders himself how, despite all they’ve been through, Even manages to keep his curiosity alive. Were it not for Even, Isak thinks that at this point in the journey, he would feel jaded, would be demanding to go home. Stormhold is far too much for him, he thinks. What he’s seen of it, anyway.

Not that Kose is a bad town. It _looks_ fine. It looks almost _normal_. If Isak didn’t know what he knows now, or maybe if he weren’t carrying a steel barrel full of _lightning_ , it’d almost look like his own town, feel like any other.

No one gives them a second glance. Whether it’s because no one cares about two men with a large steel barrel or because Vilde and Eva did a good job at making Isak and Even look like they belong with the rest of the townspeople, Isak doesn’t know, but he’s not one to complain. He keeps his head down, like Sana suggested, and simply follows Sana along quickly to a small shop, hidden behind a quiet alley in between two busier boutiques.

They’re out of public view, in any case, and Even seems to let out a loud breath; Sana looks over at him and holds a finger to her lips, and there’s a warning in her eyes – Isak catches the warning from where he stands: don’t give yourself away yet.

The door is opened by a tall, scrappy-looking fellow, looking far too paranoid for his own good. He steps aside and gestures for the three of them to come inside, which they do immediately, and the door closes behind them loudly. They’re led towards a thin man with a top hat, talking animatedly to another more surly-looking man with an eye-patch.

“It’s just strange, you know, because it’s only now that I’ve realized I put a lot of weight on my _left_ shoulder, when I’m _right_ -handed,” he saying in a thick British accent. Sana stops about three feet away from him, gesturing for Isak and Even to put the barrel down. “And I’ve never noticed it until now, when it’s obviously starting to hurt—”

“Julian,” Sana interrupts them loudly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m in a hurry.”

The British man – Julian, it appears – looks over at her and his expression clears, charming smile coming into place on his lips. “Sana!” he clasps his hands together, shoos the surly-looking man off with a wave of his hands. The man obliges, saunters over towards one of the back shelves. “I was wondering when you were going to show next. How are you, my dear?”

“I said I’m in a hurry,” Sana raises both her eyebrows and kicks the barrel beside her. “Lightning. Ten thousand bolts. Fresh out of the sky.”

Julian snorts. “I’ll be the judge of that, now won’t I?” He steps forward and twists lightly at the top. The lightning crackles loudly and dangerously for a moment, a quick flash of light following it, and he twists the top closed once again. He makes a face. “Yeah, doesn’t look very fresh, now, does it?”

Sana’s posture remains rigid. “You want me to give you a sample, Julian?”

“No, that’s just as well, Sana—”

Sana pulls out a small cylinder steel case from under her coat – _out of nowhere_ , might Isak add – and she twists the top off without further question or warning, aiming it towards one of the shelves behind Julian. The lightning bolt is loud and quick as it pierces past Julian and hits one of the many jars lined up, which in turn breaks the rest of the jars, which in turn starts a small fire on the shelf.

“Oh, come _on_ , Sana, you know those houses aren’t cheap,” Julian whines, and Isak has to double take. Those are jars, not houses – _what?_ Julian waves over the scrappy-looking fella who’d greeted them at the door and barks at him to put out the fire, which the boy is quick to do.

“See? Fresh.” Sana offers Julian a bitter smile. “Name your best price.”

Julian sighs loudly. “For ten thousand bolts?”

“That’s ten thousand bolts of Stormhold, fine-quality lightning,” Sana reminds him. “You know it’s the highest in demand.”

“That comes in a large steel barrel that’s difficult to store and difficult to hide,” Julian reminds her. “You could have brought it all to me in cylinders like your precious sample and I would have paid a higher price for convenience.”

“Your price, Julian,” Sana demands calmly.

“A hundred and fifty guineas.”

Sana’s brows rise. “Two hundred,” she counters.

Julian laughs. “No, I—” he meets Sana’s unwavering stare. “One eighty.”

“Two hundred,” Sana deadpans once again. Isak sees Even bite his bottom lip in amusement through his peripheral.

“Ah, see,” Julian wags his index finger at Sana, a forced smile on his lips. “See, that’s not – you’re not _negotiating_ , are you, you’re just _stating_ —”

“Two hundred, Julian,” Sana states again. “I’m not _here_ to negotiate.”

Julian’s lips thin in displeasure.

Sana sighs loudly. “Alright, we’re off, then,” Sana make a show of hiding the cylinder case back inside her coat and turning back to both Isak and Even. “Come on, boys, guess we’ll be taking our business to Kardem.”

“No, wait,” Julian snaps. “One ninety-five, final offer.”

Sana looks at him. “Two hundred.”

Julian growls. “Fine, Sana, two hundred guineas.”

Sana’s smile is triumphant. She holds out his hand, and Julian takes it begrudgingly to shake on the offer. Julian waves over some more of his men and orders them to store it in the back, far away from view.

“Pleasure doing business with you, as always,” Sana nods as Julian hands her the payment. “’Till next time?”

“Before you go,” Julian glances towards Even and Isak suspiciously, gestures for Sana to come closer. Sana complies, steps closer to Julian and raises an eyebrow. Julian’s voice quiets, but it’s still loud enough for Isak to hear. “There are rumors going around about a fallen star,” he mutters, and Isak feels his spine stiffen in fear. He glances at Even, who looks especially dim, quite obviously having heard the same thing Isak has. Isak swallows and takes a subtle step closer to Even, if only so that his hand brushes softly against his leg in comfort. “You heard anything about it?”

Sana hums noncommittally. “Can’t say I have, no.”

“Sana, you get your hand on that star and we can quit the life altogether. You and me. Your crew, even. There’ll plenty to go around.”

“And where did you hear this?”

“It’s a murmur going around the market.”

“The market near the wall?” Sana clarifies.

“Yeah.”

Sana’s smile is patronizing. “Julian,” she pats his shoulder. “You know better than to listen to the rumors of the people that trade down there. Don’t you remember the last time we followed a lead based on their rumors?”

Julian removes his top hat and clutches it to his chest. “Kael,” he nods solemnly. “Poor lad.”

Sana grunts sympathetically.

“In any case, you’ll keep an eye out?”

“For you?” Sana hums. “Sure.”

Julian nods, grins brightly. “Great, pleasure doing business with you, Sana, quite like always.”

“Yep,” Sana waves Isak and Even towards the door. “We’ll be heading out now.”

“’Till next time, Sana Bakkoush!” Julian waves goodbye dramatically. Isak has to grab Even’s wrist and pull him out of the shop forcefully, considering he looks to be trying to collect himself after the small moment of fear. Sana lets them leave the shop first, and she’s quick to close the door behind them before turning to look sharply at Even.

“Hey,” she snaps. “Wake up.”

Even’s breath is shaky. Isak cups the back of his neck gingerly. “Hey,” he mutters softly. “You with me?”

Even nods slowly. Isak smiles, a little shakily. “He’s fine,” he tells Sana, offering her a glance. Sana looks at both of them suspiciously.

“He’s too dim,” Sana finally tells them. “Anyone with an eye out there will notice immediately.”

Isak looks at Even, whose eyes look grey. His heart squeezes painfully as he turns back to Sana. “What can I do?” he asks. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sana looks at him incredulously. “Seriously?” Isak looks at her. Sana sighs. “Hug him.”

“What?”

“Just hug him, Isak,” Sana hisses. “We don’t have all day, did you want Sonja to find you?”

Isak licks his lips. He obviously _doesn’t_ want that, but he doesn’t know how hugging will help the situation – still, Sana looks urgent, and she’s been right about everything so far, so he takes a deep breath and wraps both of his arms around Even’s neck, pulling him in closer for a tight hug.

It feels a little surreal – Isak wonders if it’s a star thing or an Even thing, but their chests are pressed together and Isak can feel Even’s breath trickle down his neck and he can’t help but bring his fingers to clutch at Even’s hair desperately. He wonders if Even can feel how fast his heart is beating against his chest, wonders how long they’ve actually been pressed against each other, but the only way he can tell time has actually lapsed is by feeling Even’s shaky breath steady against his neck, feeling Even’s arms slowly wrap around his waist and hold him just as tight in return.

There’s a part of Isak that wonders what this would feel like forever, a part of him that doesn’t want to let go at all, and he suddenly realizes that the reason he’s warm isn’t only because of what he’s _feeling_ , but because _Even_ is suddenly warm, and his head pulls back slightly to meet Even’s gaze. His eyes are bluer than before, warm and shining, and Isak smiles soundlessly. He nuzzles Even’s nose with his own, breathes out a small, “Hi.”

Even’s answering smile is tiny, but bright. “Hi.”

“Welcome back.”

Even’s laugh is small and breathy, and it sends shivers down Isak’s spine. Even’s hand feels especially large against the small of Isak’s back. Isak’s fingers are still clutching at Even’s hair and their noses have not broken contact.

Even looks like he wants to say something, but Sana beats him to it. “Alright,” she snaps them out of whatever reverie they’d found themselves in, and Isak steps back at the same time Even does, both of them taking their hands back as if burned. “I think he’s good. Let’s get him back before he gets hard to look at.”

Isak’s face is flushed, and he rushes past Even, too embarrassed to look at him again.

He doesn’t know what Even does to him. He doesn’t understand what kind of power Even possesses; enough so that Isak loses control around him, of his mind and of his heart, and he wonders what names are meant to attached to the feelings Even brings up inside him.

The memory of his father’s story tries for control of his brain, but he suppresses it. He doesn’t need it. Not right now.

\--

By the time they’re back in the air, it’s already nighttime, and Isak and Even have been shown to their room. It’s nothing big – normal, really, a large bed sitting in the middle of it, a wardrobe sitting on one end of the room, a desk and a mirror on the other.

Isak’s been avoiding Even’s gaze for the past hour, maybe, but it gets a little hard to do this when they’re left alone in the room to their own devices. It’s not like Isak can get away with ignoring Even until they both fall asleep, especially considering they’re going to be sharing a bed, so, with as much strength as he can muster, he glances over at Even, who looks particularly dim under the sad candlelight. Isak bites his lip, exhales quietly.

“Even—”

“I’m sorry,” Even blurts before Isak can get a word in. Isak blinks at him, surprised.

“What?”

Even looks at him. “I know I must have – back there, you had to take care of me like that, and I’m sorry you did,” he clears his throat. “I talked to Sana on the way back, and tomorrow – tomorrow she’s going to start teaching me how to control my emotions better, so you won’t have to do things that you don’t want to do.” He avoids Isak’s gaze, chooses to look at his feet instead. “You won’t have to take care of me anymore.”

Isak opens his mouth, then closes it again. He’s trying to wrap his head around just what exactly Even’s apologizing to him for. “You think I—” he furrows his brows. “Even, no, that’s not—”

“I forget, sometimes,” Even says quietly. “That I’m different. That I’m not – _actually_ human,” he looks up at Isak, who feels his stomach fall to his feet. “It’s just so easy to forget that when I’m with you.”

Isak’s throat ties up into a knot. He doesn’t know how to tell Even he feels the exact same way when Isak’s with him – forgets all about the things he’s meant to be doing, finding, worrying about. It’s so easy to forget who he is when he’s with Even. And that Even’s not the problem, it’s Isak. _Isak’s_ the problem. Isak is pushing into dangerous territory, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

But he can’t stand seeing Even look the way he’s looking now – dim, guilty, like he’s the reason things aren’t the same between them as they stand. And Isak gives into his impulse, then, to stride over towards Even and pull him into a hug by his neck, similar to the way Isak pulled him in earlier. This time, however, Even’s quick to wrap his arms around Isak’s waist, and they stay like this for about a minute, maybe two, nothing but their breaths mingling in the silence.

“I was just scared,” Isak admits quietly – it’s easy to tell the truth, when he’s not looking into Even’s eyes, when he can pretend he’s admitting it to an empty room. His grip on Even does not loosen.

Even’s grip on Isak does not loosen, either. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he replies, just as quietly.

Isak shakes his head furiously, his hair brushing repeatedly against Even’s. “No, you didn’t scare me,” he tells him firmly. “You didn’t scare me, it wasn’t you.”

There’s a moment of silence. Isak can only imagine the expression Even’s wearing now. “Then…?”

Isak swallows. “The circumstances,” he tries lamely. “The idea of losing you.”

Even’s grip on Isak impossibly tightens. “I’m sorry I made you afraid—”

“Stop,” Isak demands, stepping back. “Stop apologizing, Even, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Even’s brows furrow. “But I—”

“From now on, assume every time I look upset it’s not because of you,” he settles on saying. “Okay? And if it is, I’ll tell you, but otherwise, it’s a _me_ thing, not a _you_ thing.”

Even looks at Isak a little warily. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

After a beat, Even grins. “Okay,” he nods. “I believe you.”

Isak’s shoulders slump with something akin to relief. “Okay,” he nods once. He gestures lamely towards the large bed. “Do you have a preferred side?” he asks, starting to remove his tailcoat. “I’m about ready to crash.”

Even shakes his head. “I’m just glad there’s a bed this time,” he jokes, and Isak is both amused and sorry, because Even’s right – he hasn’t slept in a bed since he crash-landed to Stormhold, and that’s probably a little bit Isak’s fault.

He kind of deserves the entire bed to himself, and Isak tells him as much.

Even gives him a look. “I’m not going to let you sleep on the _floor_ ,” he tells Isak. “Besides, you weren’t opposed to sharing a bed when we were at the inn, right?”

Isak tries very hard not to blush at the call-out. He’s not wrong, but that was impulsive, and had a lot to do with emotions he’s trying his hardest now to keep at bay. Even doesn’t know that, however, so Isak just coughs into his hand and mutters something like assent.

Even looks at him curiously. “Okay?” His brows furrow, but his smile is amused and in place. “Do _you_ have a preferred side of the bed?”

Isak shakes his head.

“Okay,” Even huffs a laugh.

Eventually, they do find their way to the bed, but do not sleep before allowing themselves to have a conversation. They sit on it first, side by side, and Even talks animatedly about all of the things he saw in Kose, all the different kinds of people, and he then tells Isak just how much fashion has changed over the centuries. Isak asks him a couple of questions about before, what he knows about Norway, about the world beyond the wall.

Even thinks about that for a moment. “Actually, not much,” he replies, seemingly a little surprised at himself. “I’ve heard almost every epic told on this side of the wall, seen every kingdom rise and fall, but I don’t know much about the other side, save for some stories that might migrate.”

Isak purses his lips. It stands to reason, of course, that Even would be as ignorant of him as Isak used to be of him. “It’s why you didn’t know how great of a singer I am,” he jokes lamely.

Even laughs brightly. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Isak raises both his eyebrows. “And why’s that?”

“Well I could pick you apart from a crowd in an instant, now,” Even tells him, expression so genuine Isak has to do his best not to melt right into the mattress. “When I go back home I don’t think I’ll ever lose sight of you.”

Isak swallows harshly, looks down at his hands. They’re quiet for a moment, and Isak thinks about what he thought a couple of days ago, about knowing he’d be able to pick Even apart from all of the stars now. How there’s really no sky if Even’s not up there with them.

Then he thinks that may be the case, but he still wants to be selfish, and he still wants to keep him down here for as long as he can.

There’s a lull in the conversation, where both of them seem to be letting all of this sink in, until finally Isak suggests they go to sleep.

“I can’t imagine tomorrow won’t be long,” he tells Even. “I feel like we’ll be cleaning all day again.”

Even smiles. “I don’t mind it,” he admits, standing to fold over the sheets. Isak does the same on his side of the bed. “I feel like it gives me some sense of normalcy, you know?”

Isak smiles right back at him. “I know,” he tells him. Things are different in Even’s head, because Even is different altogether, and Isak finds that both fascinating and terrifying. He wants to know as much as he can about Even as a star, but he also wants to help Even find himself as a human.

When they’re both finished folding over the sheets, Even climbs into the bed, while Isak makes way to blow out all of the candles. Once he’s done, he stands awkwardly at the opposite corner of the room, hands tied behind his back, unsure how he’s going to be able to sleep all night with Even’s person right beside him, so close that he can touch, so close that he can smell.

Even realizes that Isak’s just kind of standing strangely without saying a word, and he props himself up by the elbows. “Aren’t you going to sleep?” he asks, and his voice sounds genuinely confused. Isak’s face burns, and he’s glad that this time around, Even can’t tell.

“Yeah,” Isak replies, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I am.” He forces his feet towards the bed, and finally finds his way onto it, bringing the sheets up to his chin. He lays rigidly on his back, eyes wide open and staring at what he can see of the ceiling, watching it become clearer as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He doesn’t know for how long he lays like this, but eventually he feels Even turn to his right side, and feels his heavy gaze on the side of Isak’s face.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, and his voice seems like an intrusion in the quiet of the room, the darkness of it. “Do you need something?”

“No,” Isak’s voice is raspy, like he hasn’t used it for days. “No, I’m fine.” He clears his throat of any sign of discomfort. Because it’s _not_ discomfort, not really, maybe the opposite of it. “This is just how I fall asleep.”

Even snorts. Isak furrows his brows and looks over at him, a little accusingly. “What?” he asks.

Even raises an eyebrow at him. “I’ve seen you sleep before,” he reminds him. “You seemed to be more comfortable on your side, or your stomach, or – _relaxed_ , in general,” he sounds amused, and Isak is a little offended. “You look like you’re lying on the ship’s plank rather than on a bed.”

Isak swallows harshly. “Excuse me if I’m a little uncomfortable on a _pirate_ ship,” he snaps. “But we still don’t know for sure if they’re gonna come in here and shank us in the middle of the night.”

He can see Even’s wounded expression through his peripheral, and Isak feels terrible – both for snapping and for suggesting that the girls could be anything but kind and helpful. It stands to reason, however, that Isak might have some lingering paranoia, considering their last night in a seemingly hospitable environment. He sticks with this as he pushes forward, voice far quieter, far kinder. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “It’s just been a long couple of days.”

Even hums. “It’s okay,” he tells Isak. “I get it. Tomorrow’ll be better, right?”

Isak can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. “Yeah,” he turns over on his left side to stare straight into Even’s hopeful eyes, and feels like every part of his body has started working overtime. “I hope so.”

Even doesn’t seem to know whether or not he wants to say something else – it’s as if he’s only just realized the reality of their situation: they’re sharing a bed, and, consequently, are lying extremely close together, and their proximity might make for some awkward encounters during the night, and this is the only reason Isak can manage to smile; because he’s not alone in this realization anymore, and when he does smile, Even’s gaze casts downward.

“Good night,” Even whispers, his voice sounding far, far away. Isak wants to reach out and trace his bottom lip, try to find where that voice is going.

“Good night,” he replies, and instead clutches at his pillow to keep his hands from wandering. Even’s gaze meets Isak’s one more time, then he turns over to give Isak his back. Isak exhales shakily, a little relieved, but also a little disappointed, and he doesn’t know for how long he stares at the back of Even’s head before he lets sleep take him under.


	5. day four

When Isak wakes up, Even is gone.

There’s a moment in which he panics, the same fears as the last time overtaking him – first, Isak thinks Even’s left him for good, then Isak thinks the girls have finally revealed their true intentions and taken him hostage, and then finally, third—

He thinks maybe he’s gone to get breakfast again.

Isak lets out a shaky exhale. Logically, he knows out of the three options, the latter’s where most of his bets should be placed, but where Even’s concerned, it seems like he can’t think rationally: he’s ridiculously afraid that Even will leave him without saying goodbye, and whatever fear may come afterwards he tries to suppress, because it doesn’t do anyone any good to be thinking about it. Especially him. Yeah, most definitely him.

He folds his legs over the edge of the bed and rubs at his eyes, trying to regain his composure. He tells himself to stop being ridiculous and pushes himself off the bed with that thought in his head, then makes his way to the wardrobe they’d been provided with. Even’s day clothes are gone, along with the amulet Isak had left neatly beside them, while Isak’s glass flower remains where it was. He changes quickly out of his bed wear to his day clothes, rubbing at his hair so it doesn’t look so much like a mess. He leans down and grabs his glass flower, stroking it fondly. If he never gets to meet his mother, then at least he has this, enough to hold him over; until, maybe one day, he does.

Isak’s feet drag him towards the door, and when he opens it he pokes his head out to look left, and then look right, and then listens closely for the sound of voices. It takes a minute or two for his hearing to adjust, but he finally hears something coming from the deck. Rubbing his hands on his trousers, he leaves the bedroom and makes way past all of the closed doors and up towards the deck.

The daylight hits his eyes a little uncomfortably, so much so that he has to squint against it. He holds a hand up towards the sun, hoping that’ll alleviate the burning a little bit, but he hardly has time to process this when Vilde comes running up to him.

“Good morning!” she greets him happily, and Isak looks at her a little warily. No one can be this cheerful in the morning – not unless they’re Even, Isak thinks, and even then, he’s still a little of _that_. “Did you sleep well?” Vilde pushes, and Isak shrugs his shoulders, for lack of a more coherent response.

“Uh, where’s Even?” he asks, looking past Vilde towards the rest of the deck, only finding Noora and Eva chatting as they sit by a table, some fruits accompanying their plates. “He wasn’t there when I woke up.”

“Oh, yeah,” Vilde nods, understanding. “He’s with Sana and Chris in her quarters. They’re teaching him how to control his shine.”

“Oh,” Isak squirms. “Does that mean I can’t see him?”

Vilde smiles, a little sympathetically. Isak doesn’t like the implication of it. “Yeah, sorry, you can’t,” she tells him. “But you’re more than welcome to join us for breakfast!” She gestures happily behind her, towards the small table. “Noora managed to pick some really great fruit, and there are still some eggs left over, if you’d like them.”

Isak knows he shouldn’t be snippy, even though his tiredness and overall lack of, well, Even, is making him so. Still, he manages to swallow a snarky reply, because really, Vilde’s been nothing but nice to him, and he nods his head instead. “Yeah, thanks,” he agrees, and Vilde blinds him with a grin. She turns around and leads him to the table, where Noora and Eva look up at him.

Noora’s the first to smile. “Morning, Isak,” she greets him. “Joining us?”

Isak nods, a little awkwardly. “If that’s okay?”

Eva laughs quietly, kicking the only remaining chair after Vilde’s sat down away from her and towards Isak. “Sit,” she orders, but her tone is amicable. “You’re part of the crew now, however temporarily. You get to join us for breakfast.”

Isak smiles, takes the seat offered to him. Noora leans over the table and prepares a plate for him, eggs and fruit and all, then sets it in front of him along with a glass of water. Isak grabs at the fork set beside the plate and starts picking at the eggs.

When he’s got a mouthful of them, Vilde perks up again. “Are they any good? I helped Noora cook them this morning,” she explains, and Eva smiles fondly at her.

Isak nods, then swallows. “They’re great, Vilde,” he tries for a sincere smile. “Thanks.”

Vilde beams.

“So,” Isak clears his throat, playing with his fruit. “When is Even going to be done with his, uh, session?” He’s frowning down at the plate, so that he doesn’t look too eager for an answer.

The girls seem to know that he is, anyway. “Not ‘till late afternoon, I think,” Noora tells him. “But we’ve got a lot of things to keep you busy.”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “Am I going to be cleaning all day again?”

All three of the girls grin.

\--

There’s a lot more to cleaning a ship than the deck, Isak’s learned.

Don’t get him wrong; they cleaned that too, despite the fact that they went over it _thoroughly_ yesterday. But today the girls have dragged him around the bedrooms and the kitchen and the bathhouse, washing dishes, sweeping floors, making beds. They all chat animatedly with him and amongst each other, but Isak’s a little too busy trying not to die from lack of stamina – these girls are warriors, because despite the intensity of the cleaning duties, they’re never once out of breath, never show the hint of a sweat. Isak, on the other hand, is going to need a very thorough bath after this, if only so he doesn’t smell like dirty dishes and rogue dirt by the end of the day.

It’s late afternoon when they finish, and that’s when they let Isak take a bath. They all look amused at just how weak Isak is, but they don’t say anything, thankfully, so Isak just sulks towards the bathhouse to clean himself up. He’s a little irritated that he’s been shown up by three girls, but not because they’re _girls_ , or anything, but because it just brings to light how little he has to offer in regards to physical strength or noteworthy abilities. He can’t even clean a _ship_ without running out of breath and finishing off looking like a wet goat.

Once he finishes with his bath, he changes to his extra pair of day clothes, carefully switching the glass flower from his previous trousers’ pocket and into the new ones. He folds his old clothes neatly, knowing he’ll have to wash them for himself later, and walks towards the bedroom to set them down on the bed. He walks back out and closes the door behind him, then makes his way up to the deck, where he can hear the distinct laughter of the girls and – _there_ , also the laughter he thinks he’ll never be able to forget. If you ask him later, he’ll absolutely deny near-sprinting towards the stairs, but it might be a near thing, and he might look a little desperate when he emerges back onto the deck.

Even’s sitting on one of the chairs around the table, chatting animatedly to the girls, Sana and Chris now in tow. He’s gesturing dramatically with his hands as he does, and Isak stays where he is for a moment, drinking him in against the warm light of the sunset.

After about half a minute, Even catches sight of him from where he sits, and his words fade off. He smiles brightly at Isak and jumps from where he’s sitting, sprinting lightly over to him. If Isak’s heart had room to grow ten sizes, that’s probably what it would be doing right now.

When Even reaches him, he’s about two feet away, and his grin has not once wavered. “Hello,” he greets happily. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Isak scoffs, but he feels warm all over. “I hope you had a great time sitting and learning things,” he sniffs dramatically. “Because I have been _cleaning_ all day.”

Even laughs brightly. “Sana did say we had to earn our keep,” he reminds Isak. Isak raises both eyebrows.

“And how is you having private lessons in the comfort of Sana’s quarters earning your keep, exactly?”

Even shrugs. “The more I control my shine, the less risk I put all of them at,” he gestures back towards the girls. “And you, of course.”

“Of course,” Isak offers him a small smile. “Well, you’re not shining as much, so that’s good.”

Even blushes a pretty pink. “It has a lot to do with the, uh,” he coughs into his hand. “Breathing.”

Isak laughs. “If you say so,” he teases. He licks his lips, a little nervously, before clearing his throat and gesturing with his head behind Even. “You wanna…?”

“Oh!” Even looks behind him. All of the girls wave at them. “Yeah, yes,” he nods, then reaches over to grab Isak by the wrist and pull him towards the table. “Noora and I were just exchanging folklore we’ve heard.”

Isak’s a little busy focusing on the feeling of Even’s hand wrapped around his wrist to form a coherent reply. “Uh huh.”

“Because Noora’s well-traveled, as we know, and I’m, y’know, a star.”

“Right.”

“Noora just finished telling hers, though,” he sighs, finally letting go of Isak’s wrist. The touch lingers even when it’s gone. Even sits back in his chair, gestures to an empty one. Isak sits. “It was about a volcano.”

“Nothing too intense,” Noora jokes. “Just something to keep us occupied before the dark comes and takes over.”

Vilde sighs loudly from her seat at the table. “Your stories are always of adventures and action,” she says, tracing patterns on the table while her other hand holds her head up. “Once in a while you should tell us something that doesn’t involve pirates.”

Noora laughs. “Vilde, _we’re_ pirates.”

“Yeah, that’s _why_ ,” Vilde looks at her as if Noora’s being especially slow. “Why do I want to hear about pirates when we’re literally living the pirate life?” she raises an eyebrow. “You never once tell us a nice story. Of romance, or something.”

Eva reaches over to lace her fingers with Vilde’s, while Noora frowns at Vilde. “Why would you want to hear a romantic tale? All of them are uninteresting and stereotypical,” she argues. “Besides, I don’t know many of those. I tend to pass on hearing them.”

“You’re so boring,” Vilde rolls her eyes. “Isn’t she boring?”

Sana raises an eyebrow from across the table. “I think we all have our own tastes,” she tells Vilde. “Noora’s taste just doesn’t include romance.”

Vilde scoffs, looks over at Even and blinks her large eyes innocently at him. “Even,” she sing-songs. “Do you happen to have any romantic tales for us here tonight?”

Noora rolls her eyes so hard Isak thinks they might fall out of her head for a moment, but Even just smiles brightly at Vilde’s request. “I have a lot of them,” he tells her. “I spent most of my time in the sky listening to them.”

Vilde sits up at this. “Really?” she asks, then takes her hand back from Eva to clap excitedly when Even nods his assent. “I’m ready. Hit me with it. I want to know all about this romantic tale.”

Even hums thoughtfully, then glances at Isak. He smiles crookedly. “I think I might tell you one that’s from across the wall,” he tells them, but his eyes remain glued to Isak’s. Isak’s trying his best to keep his blush at bay. “I only know of it because it somehow managed to migrate to this side of it.”

All of the girls seem to be paying close attention now, albeit Noora a little warily.

“It’s the story of Ohi’a and Lehua,” Even begins, and immediately his eyes light up, his voice gets quieter. Isak thinks he’s already mesmerized, already interested in whatever he has to say. “Ohi’a was a tall, strong man, with one of the most handsome faces in the entirety of their village. He was popular among the women of the village, though he was never known for his womanizing ways – he was kind, and he was loyal, despite not having a partner at the beginning of this story.

“Lehua was a gentle, beautiful, sweet young woman whose beauty mesmerized the entirety of the village. It was often brought up at the dinner table, just how beautiful she was, just how lucky anyone would be to be her husband. Her father was a large, boisterous man, but he was very protective of his daughter. Lehua rarely had gentleman callers, because all of them feared her father, and all of them feared never being deemed good enough for his daughter. So Lehua was often alone, and she didn’t mind it.

“However,” Even sighs, and the girls are all rapt with attention. Isak is trying his hardest not to look just as captivated, but he’s having a hard time when Even looks so content, so comfortable telling this story out of nothing but memory, as if he’s recounted it many times in his head. “This all changed when they saw each other for the first time at a village dance.” Even turns to look at Isak. His voice gets quieter still. “They loved each other from the moment they first laid eyes on each other.” Isak swallows, eyes fluttering slightly.

“Ohi’a was speaking to Lehua’s father, unaware that he had such a beautiful daughter, and their eyes caught each other’s at the same time from across the fire. Lehua blushed crimson. Ohi’a stopped speaking in the middle of the sentence, mouth hanging open at the sight of her. He was so overwhelmed by the sight of Lehua, and Lehua by the sight of him, that all they could do was stare uselessly at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

“It wasn’t, though. Lehua’s father nudged Ohi’a, recalling him to his duties as a guest. Ohi’a stammered through his apologies, tried to pick up where he left off, but he never lost sight of Lehua. Lehua’s father was amused by this rather than bothered; he’d grown to like Ohi’a, with his strong build and obvious passion and loyalty, and so – aware of the young man’s obvious infatuation with his daughter – he offered to introduce them.

“Ohi’a wasted no time in hurrying over to Lehua, almost tripping in his haste. Her father and him found their way over to the beautiful maiden, who was surrounded by some of her closest friends. Lehua’s father introduced them swiftly. Ohi’a held out his hand, and when Lehua took it, blushing prettily, he kissed her knuckles softly,” Even says. Vilde looks like she wants to melt where she sits. Isak can’t keep his eyes off of Even’s. “And from that moment on, they had eyes for no one but each other.

“They courted with a passion that swiftly won over Lehua’s heart, and her father happily accepted Ohi’a into the family, knowing he was a man worthy of his daughter’s affection. They married, and they lived in quiet, happy peace for several long months, in a home Ohi’a happily built for his bride.

“Then one day,” Even glances away from Isak and looks towards the table. Isak’s brows furrow along with Vilde and Eva’s. “A goddess named Pele came across Ohi’a working in the forest. Pele was immediately smitten by him – of course she was, he was probably the most handsome human man she’d ever come across, and she didn’t hesitate to engage him in a conversation. Ohi’a, of course, was not rude – he replied politely to her questions, and though he was not oblivious to her beauty, he did not react or respond to any of her advances. This infuriated the goddess. She was determined to have this man all to herself, doing whatever it took, but before she could try again, Lehua came near-dancing towards her husband’s place of work, to bring him his midday meal.

“Ohi’a’s face lit up with love,” Even swallows, glances at Isak one more time. Isak doesn’t know how to quiet the loud drumming of his heart in his ears. “As there was no one more beautiful, no one more important to him than the woman walking towards him to greet him. He dropped everything at once – his work, his conversation with Pele – to meet her halfway, embracing her and kissing her, their love coming off in waves.

“Waves that reached Pele, for that matter, and left her fuming and in a jealous rage from where she stood at the sight of the young couple. What Ohi’a didn’t know, was that the beautiful woman she’d appeared to him was actually a disguise – which she dropped immediately in anger, and transformed into a raging column of fire.” Vilde gasps quietly from where she sits, hand squeezing Eva’s arm. “She struck Ohi’a down, transformed him into a twisted, ugly tree in revenge.”

Even takes a deep breath before he continues, eyes still glued to the table in front of him. The rest of the girls are still quiet, looking at him intently. “Lehua fell to her knees beside the twisted tree that had once been her husband. She begged Pele to turn him back into a man, tears streaming down her face. She begged and she begged, even tried to convince Pele to turn her into a tree, as well, as she could not bear to be separated from her beloved.

“But of course, Pele ignored the girl. Her anger was satisfied, and so she left her where she was, disappeared into the sky. Lehua sobbed loudly against the tree for hours and hours, begging for her husband to come back, and also begging for someone to take her to him.

“The gods heard her weeping. The gods had seen what Pele had done to the innocent lovers, and their anger spurred a solution for them – they listened to Lehua’s prayers, and reached down to transform her into a beautiful red flower, which they then placed upon the twisted Ohi’a tree, so that she and her husband would never be apart again.

“From that day forth, the Ohi’a tree has blossomed with beautiful red flowers, named Lehua flowers.” Even looks up from the table and meets Isak’s gaze again, and this time it’s heavier, much more intense. Isak doesn’t know what to do with it. He wonders if he can maybe run away from it. He doesn’t, though. Doesn’t think he can. “While the flowers remain on the tree, the weather remains sunny and fair. But if a flower is plucked from the tree, then it brings heavy rain upon the land,” Even swallows. “Like Lehua’s tears – because she still cannot bear to be separated from the love of her life, her dear husband Ohi’a.”

There’s a moment of silence as they all let this sink in, a moment which Isak thinks might stretch forever, with Even staring at him the way he’s doing so and Isak staring right back, unable to think of what else he might do, unable to bring himself to stop, his heart near-beating out of his chest.

Vilde breaks the silence first. “Oh, my God,” she sniffles. Even seems to blink out of his stupor, looks over at Vilde, who’s wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “That’s so beautiful.”

“That’s _depressing_ ,” Chris says, though her voice sounds a little shaky as well. “I mean, they can still be apart, if some dick’s walking around trying to pick at the flowers.”

“It’s not like they _know_ they’re pulling them apart,” Eva chimes in. “Though I don’t know why the Gods couldn’t throw them a better bone and turned Ohi’a back into a man instead.”

“Because the woman always has to end up losing in any romantic scenario,” Noora sniffs, arms crossed over her chest. “She has to conform to the man, whether it’s his wishes or his _form_.”

“Oh, Noora,” Vilde glares at her. “Don’t take away from that beautiful story. Sana thinks it’s beautiful, don’t you Sana?”

Sana shrugs noncommittally. “Objectively, it’s pretty sweet,” she admits. “Hawaiian, right?”

Even nods. “I believe so,” he hums. “Though it migrated to the kingdom of Gruppa, which is right near where the wall meets the sea.”

Sana smiles. “They have beautiful tales there,” she sighs. “I’ve always wanted to visit. I hear it’s a beautiful island.”

Vilde rests her chin on her hand. “Did you listen to a lot of those stories often, Even?”

Even nods, smiling slightly. “There’s hardly much else to do up in the sky,” he laughs. “There’s conversation to be made, but we get pretty bored of it quickly.” He glances at Isak, who’s still trying to process all of this. He’s listening to the conversation, don’t get him wrong, but he probably won’t be able to recount it later on – not the same way Even perfectly recounted the romantic tale he just told, anyway. “Love stories were some of my favorite to hear. The ones that didn’t end in tragedy, of course,” he adds.

“Of course,” Vilde nods. “Love is just such a beautiful thing. They could make up a thousand tales of it and I still wouldn’t tire of it.”

Eva laughs. “I don’t think you could get tired of anything other than pirate stories.”

Vilde wrinkles her nose. “We’re _pirates_ ,” she insists once again. “We’re making our own stories!”

They bicker amongst each other, then, Sana as the obvious mediator between Noora and Vilde’s differing points of view, and Isak plays with his hands on his lap. He bites his bottom lip as he tried to process and understand every single one of Even’s glances towards him during the tale, every single rise in octave and fall in volume. Isak thinks he’s trying to cling to something that maybe isn’t there – that maybe he’s looking too much into, that maybe he’s projecting onto.

He looks up when he feels the weight of a heavy gaze on him, however, and it’s only to find Even’s eyes on him – he looks intense for a moment, kind of like he’s trying to say something without words, but Isak can’t reach over to decipher what it is. He just wants to ask, he wants Even to tell him, he wants to be put out of his misery by wishing and wondering and hoping, but instead Even offers him the smallest hint of a smile and Isak has to take it, because that’s all he’s going to get, he thinks.

So he smiles back, a little shyly, and throughout the rest of the night they listen to the girls argue about what truly makes a romance story an epic.

Isak glances at Even and wonders that, too.

\--

Before they fall asleep, there’s a moment:

“How do you think it would feel, to lose someone you love so much, sometimes periodically, even when you’re promised forever?”

And Even stays quiet, until he replies, voice is barely above a whisper:

“Not unlike living in the sky, I think.” 

Isak doesn’t know what that means, and still, he turns to his left side and feels very brave under the cloak of darkness, reaches out to brush his knuckle against Even’s own.

Even’s breath hitches audibly, and for a moment he’s still, but then his fingers trace the outline of Isak’s. It’s nothing – it’s a small touch, and it’s only for a moment, but it makes Isak feel like maybe he can conquer the world.

“Good night, Even,” Isak whispers, taking his hand back and turning around to give his back to Even.

“Good night, Isak,” is Even’s reply, and when Isak falls asleep, he dreams of falling flowers and twisted trees.


	6. day five

When Isak woke this morning, Even was gone again, and he doesn’t know whether it’s annoying because it’s always cold when he awakens or if it’s annoying because he really does want to see Even first thing in the morning.

Either way, it’s _annoying_ , and it’s easy to tell he’s annoyed when he’s emerging up to the deck once again, feet dragging behind him and towards the table, where the girls are sitting like they were yesterday, only this time, Chris has also joined them.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Chris greets him happily, and Isak can do no more than grunt in return. He sits himself down in an empty chair, then rubs at his eyes tiredly, pointedly not asking after Even. He’s not bitter that Sana’s taking up most of his time, if that’s what you’re thinking, he’s simply a little bothered by the fact that he’s been doing the cleaning and Even’s been getting away with learning useful skills that will, in time, most likely save his life. Not that Isak thinks that’s a _bad_ thing – it’s simply—

“You’re pouting,” Eva tells him, and Isak immediately sucks his bottom lip between his lips. “Too late,” Eva laughs. “We saw you.”

“I wasn’t _pouting_ ,” Isak snaps. “I was just thinking of everything I’m going to have to clean today.”

The girls all exchange looks, and Isak raises an eyebrow at them. “What?” he asks, a little defensively. He crosses his arms over his chest. “What?” he asks again, when he gets no reply.

Vilde is the one to perk up first. “Well, we were thinking,” she clears her throat. “Since Even’s learning his own survival skills, we thought – maybe you’d like to learn some, too.”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “I don’t shine,” he points out dryly.

“No,” Vilde agrees. “But we don’t think you’re exactly savvy with a sword.”

Isak scowls. “You don’t know that,” he scoffs. “I’ve wielded swords before. I’m pretty good at it,” he lies, pretty smoothly for his ears.

Apparently, his ears are as far as the lie extends, because the girls all exchange incredulous glances. Isak narrows his eyes as he stands from his chair.

“I am.”

“We believe you,” Vilde smiles at him encouragingly, but Isak one hundred percent does not believe her sincerity.

“You don’t.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Noora interjects, holding up a hand to stop Isak in his tracks. “What matters is that you’re prepared to fight out there, if need be. If Even, for some reason or another, cannot control his shine at a certain point of time, you’ll have to do more than run.”

“It’s all about posture,” Eva says, walking over towards the stairs and grabbing a longsword that sits neatly against the railing, twisting it expertly in her hand so that the hilt is pointing towards Isak. “If you don’t find your balance immediately after an attack, you might as well give up on the spot.”

Isak eyes the hilt of the longsword a little suspiciously – truth be told, he’s never had to learn how to wield a sword, for any reason; he’s a grocer, after all, not a fighter, and the sport has taken more with the richer folk of the town than it ever has with him or his friends. They like to drink and sing for fun – others might like to have silly little tournaments, where they duel until one yields and kneels, as they like to proclaim, and the last man standing is the champion for the rest of the year. Bragging rights and complementary baubles is what they win, if Isak remembers correctly, and he might not be, considering how little attention he pays to the entire spectacle.

He’s always thought it was a waste of time. Stupid, really. But he also never thought he’d land in a fantasy magical land where he’d probably _have_ to use a longsword at one point for self-defense rather than for sport, so can you really blame him?

“Staring at it won’t do you any good,” Eva presses. “You’ll have to take it to actually learn anything.”

Isak hesitates only for a moment longer before gingerly reaching out and taking it – he’s unprepared for how _heavy_ it feels in his grasp, so the point of it falls and hits the deck with a loud scrape, and he looks back up at Eva apologetically. “Sorry,” he mutters, knowing he’ll most likely be the one who’ll have to clean that up later. He picks it up from the floor and points it towards the sky, hoping to feel – something. And he does: ridiculous.

“What do I do with it now?”

“Not that,” Chris snorts, and Eva glares over Isak’s shoulder at her. 

“She’s right,” Noora chimes in, walking over to Isak and helping him lower to sword to his side. “You’re not calling for war, you’re preparing for battle. Shoulder height,” she says, adjusting the position of the sword accordingly. She then proceeds to gently widen Isak’s stance, so that his left leg is in front of his right one, and she forces him to bend his knees. “Distribute your weight evenly,” she tells him. “Hips facing forward, towards your opponent.”

Isak raises an eyebrow at her, then glances at the empty space in front of him. “And who might that be?”

Noora smirks, reaching for the hilt of her sword that sits inside the sheath at her waist. She pulls it out as if it’s light as a feather and immediately settles herself into the same position Isak’s been puppetted into. “Me,” she replies, shrugging.

Isak doesn’t even think he can shrug the way Noora does so easily with the weight of the sword, so he’s feeling a little bit fucked right now.

“Don’t worry,” Eva says, suddenly beside Isak, placing both of her hands on either of his shoulders and straightening his posture. “It’s just practice. No one’ll hurt you.”

He eyes Noora incredulously. “You say that now.”

They ignore him, which is super comforting. “Bring the sword forward,” Eva instructs, and Isak does his best. Eva shakes her head, bringing his arms back to starting position. “Like this,” she says, and moves his arms for him, curving the sword outwards slightly and then bringing it in front of Isak once again. “Prepares you for any unexpected counterattack. Now you.”

Isak does it to his best of his ability, and the girls seem satisfied.

“Move your right leg forward and your body slightly to the right now,” Eva continues to instruct, and Isak does as she asks. “You’ve moved out of the way of the line of attack, see?” Eva gestures between the point of Noora’s sword and the space to the left of Isak, which is now left empty. “Then just lower the sword to her shoulder,” Eva pauses. “Carefully, for now.”

Isak looks at Noora. “Is it alright–”

Noora swiftly moves forward and lowers the sword to the side of his chest, the edge of it treading threateningly against Isak’s clothes. “Wounded,” Noora deadpans. “Are you going to be asking permission every time someone duels with you?”

Isak’s mouth falls open a little, a little offended. “Obviously _not_ ,” he scoffs. “But I just wanted to make sure you were okay with me _doing_ that, in case I hurt you.”

Noora snorts. “You can’t hurt me, Isak,” she promises. “Now do as Eva tells you, yeah?”

Isak thinks he’s very capable of hurting Noora, thank you very much, he’s not _all_ that useless with a sword, but he keeps that to himself, lest Noora decides to _actually_ wound him with her sword this time. He makes sure his weight is evenly distributed as Noora steps back into position, and this time, he lowers his sword gently to her shoulder without asking her for permission. Eva smiles at Isak encouragingly. 

“Good,” she says. “Now you’re protected from two possible counterattacks – Noora?”

At this, Noora steps forward and attempts what Isak thinks is a similar attack as before, but this time the edge of her sword hits Isak’s, the point of it stopped by the hilt, and they’re at a standstill, their swords forming a large, looming “X”. 

“Woo!” Chris cheers from behind them, and Isak grins at Noora, who grins right back.

“You have two vantage points now,” Eva continues to explain. With her index finger she points at Noora’s forehead. “Here,” she says, then moves her finger to the dip of Noora’s throat. “And here.”

“It won’t be easy in an actual battle,” Noora reminds him. “Chances are the person you’re dueling against will expect this to be your next move, so they’ll know how to counterattack.”

“But let’s pretend they’re an idiot, for now,” Eva says, and Isak’s a little offended, considering _he’s_ the one who wouldn’t know what to do in that situation at the moment. He likes these girls well enough, but they also seem to enjoy poking fun at him, which – you know. Doesn’t make him like them any less, actually. More, if possible. Makes him feel like he’s part of their team, even though he’s absolutely sure this is not where he belongs. Not really. “Remember, don’t let up on the pressure against her sword,” Eva says. “You’re close enough to slit, so all you’d really have to do is slide it against her neck and it would wound her enough to distract her.”

“What about the vantage points?” Isak asks. Eva nods at Noora, who nods back, and suddenly she’s stepping forward, her sword closing in on Isak’s neck, and Isak reacts almost instinctively – his right leg steps back to its original position, sword hitting Noora’s before it gets to him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Noora’s smile is proud. “There you go. Let your body do the job. Its instinct is to protect you from immediate danger. Your reflexes will kick in if you need them, so you don’t need to overthink it.”

“And now you have a clear shot to the vantage points I told you about,” Eva adds. “With a simple step forward, you’ve stuck your blade through her head or her throat.”

“Kill shot,” Chris whoops. “Kill her, Isak!”

“Chris,” Vilde scolds, though there’s an underlying tone of amusement in the word. 

“You could,” Noora tells Isak, but before Isak can step forward, Noora’s crouching and doing a complete three-sixty, one leg outward, and Isak’s feet are suddenly swept from underneath him; the only reason he doesn’t fall immediately to the floor is because Eva’s there to catch him like some damsel in distress, a huge smile on her face. “Or you could remember to pay attention to your opponent.” Noora finishes as Eva helps Isak back up.

“That’s unfair,” Isak frowns.

“That’s the point,” Noora replies. “This is a fight. You’re not _supposed_ to play fair.” She taps her the tip of her sword to the floor twice and then picks it back up, on guard. “Again.”

And so Isak does it again.

They spend most of the afternoon this way – they all forget to eat, they forget to do much of anything other than drink when Vilde orders them to. Isak’s never experienced an adrenaline rush that wasn’t due to drinking or, you know, being captured and almost killed – but if this is as close as he’s going to get, then he’s okay with that. He’s _enjoying_ it, even – learning how to counterattack, how to predict his opponent’s movements before they even happen, listening to Eva and Noora talk about tells, about strength, about pressure and positioning. 

Though for the first couple of hours, things are slow, they begin to pick up in speed when Isak starts getting the hang of it, and the sword no longer feels as heavy as it did when he first picked it up. Now it almost feels like an extension of him, and he’s letting his reflexes do what they do best as he applies all of the moves Eva and Noora have been teaching him into the small pseudo-battle. He can feel the sweat dripping from his forehead down to his shoulders, and his lungs are burning in protest, but he doesn’t care – his concentration is solely on Noora as his opponent, and on little else.

Which is why when a dagger flies right past the tip of his nose, Isak is caught completely off guard, tripping backwards at the shock. He hears a harsh thud as the dagger hits the wall, echoing for a couple of seconds as it adjusts its position. 

That second of lost concentration is all Noora needs to hit the edge of her sword with Isak’s with enough pressure to knock it out of his hands, and before it hits the floor, Noora catches it with her free hand expertly and throws it across the deck, the metal hitting the woodwork harshly and loudly, even over the roaring of the wind around them.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Isak objects, looking over to the direction the dagger presumably came from. He finds Chris, smirking, twisting another similar-looking dagger in one hand and waving with the other. “That’s not–”

“Say fair,” Noora barks. “I dare you.” Before Isak can dignify that with a response, Noora’s already sweeping with her sword at Isak’s chest, who jumps back reflexively. “That’ll teach you an important lesson,” she says, taking another swipe over Isak’s head, who ducks quickly. “Your opponent won’t always be your only threat,” she moves forward and tries to slice at Isak’s other side, but he moves back just in time and manages to avoid that attack, too. “Be aware of your surroundings.”

“I’m not a multitasker,” Isak complains – though to some ears it may sound like _whining_ , he assures you it is not – and Noora smirks. 

“Then you’re going to have to learn to be,” she says, taking one final attempt at a strike, but this time, when Isak tries to move back, he realizes he’s been cornered, right by the captain’s cabin door. Noora’s sword presses against Isak’s cheek, and her expression is both victorious and expectant. “You no longer have your sword in your hand,” Noora points out, the tip of her sword digging a little deeper into his skin. “You’re unarmed and cornered and maybe even surrounded. What do you do?”

Isak thinks for a second. “Die, I guess.”

“I—” Noora rolls her eyes. “No, you don’t _die_ , you use the environment to your advantage,” she says, gesturing with her head towards a loose plank of wood laying against the ship’s wall, right under the quarterdeck. It takes Isak a moment to understand, but when he does, he reaches for it and quickly grabs the plank with both hands to swing it towards Noora, who swiftly dodges out of the way, buying Isak enough time to run further left to grab the dagger that’s now stuck to the wall and pull it out. He turns towards Noora and holds out the dagger, a little cluelessly, but willing himself to look threatening.

Noora grins. “ _Nice_ ,” she says approvingly. “It’s harder to disarm you with a dagger.”

“It’s a lot riskier,” Eva calls out to him. “You’re going to have to come a lot closer and from a shorter range than your opponent.”

“But if you do it right,” Noora adds to the point. “You could gain the upper hand in a second. A dagger is sneakier. Less people see it coming.”

“Case in point,” Chris laughs maniacally, waving her remaining dagger in the air. Isak points towards her with his own dagger.

“Still not cool, Chris,” he calls out, but he can feel the smile on his face, the thrill of the situation still adding to his enjoyment. Chris grins at him.

“Aw, you haven’t lost yet, Isak,” she reminds him, and throws the remaining dagger towards him, which Isak catches a little clumsily. “I’m still rooting for you.”

“Okay,” Noora deadpans, throwing an accusatory glance at Chris. “Your enemy most likely won’t _gift_ you with their weapon in battle, so that’s a little–”

“Unfair?” Isak asks innocently, grinning as he looks over at Noora. She narrows her eyes at him.

“ _Unrealistic_ ,” she corrects. “But I’ll allow it.”

Isak looks at the daggers in both his hands. They’re longer than normal daggers, but still slightly shorter than rapiers, which makes Isak think they may have been custom-made for Chris, which – makes Isak wonder a lot about where these girls actually came from. They know so much about these things, which, Isak supposes makes sense, since they’ve been living as pirates for a long time, but with the intricacy of their instructions Isak is led to believe they may have been formally trained long before they came into this trade.

“Eva was right,” Noora said. “I have a longer range of attack now, so until you figure it out, I have the advantage.”

“I hate daggers,” Eva grunts. “But you’re quick, like Chris, so they might suit you better.”

Chris comes closer to Isak, then, nodding her head. “You’ll have to get a little more physical with daggers,” she says. “A swift kick to the stomach oughta do plenty when you’re trying to stab your opponent, but you’ll have to figure out how to block their sword, which can be tricky. Think of them as a shield fifty percent of the time,” she tells Isak. “You see the sword coming? You hold those daggers up crossed. They’ll protect you from the impact long enough for you to gain some momentum.” 

And then it’s Chris taking the helm as she explains how to wield daggers properly to Isak, and they forget to eat again until the sun has disappeared from the sky entirely, their only light source coming from the bright moon and the stars that still cling to their home. 

Isak is tired and sweaty and out of breath by the time they finish, and even Noora looks tired, though for all intents and purposes she looks a lot less tired than Isak does. Which makes perfect sense, considering the girls have far better stamina than Isak, which has been brought up in the past. 

Noora’s put her sword back in its sheath, and she’s removing it from her waist as she looks up at the stars. “I’ve gotta get started on dinner,” she mutters. “We got way too carried away. But hey,” she smiles at Isak as she holds onto the sword in her sheath. “You did really well, Isak. I’m proud of you.”

“We all are,” Vilde says suddenly, and they all turn to see her coming upstairs from under the deck with a tray full of food. “I hope you don’t mind, Noora, but I took the liberty of cooking myself, since none of you seemed like you were close to finishing by the time I was getting hungry, so.”

Noora smiles softly at Vilde. “I don’t mind at all,” she replies, looking at the tray. “Nice form,” she teases, and Vilde beams proudly.

“I applied everything you taught me,” she promises, and she looks over at Isak. “We might have to fight for Most Improved over this, you know.”

Isak is still stupidly catching his breath, bent over, hands on his knees. He holds up a hand, closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and offers her a thumbs up. “You take it,” he coughs. He takes another deep, painful breath, though it almost sounds like he’s wheezing loudly instead. “I’m gonna–” he gestures towards one of the chairs on the deck, waddles over to it and sits down. The relief is immediate, though the soreness that follows is, too, and all he can do is groan in disdain as it continues to carry out through every single one of his muscles. “Shoulda stretched first,” he mutters, and Eva laughs as she takes a seat beside him.

“Should have eaten breakfast first,” she says, then “We all should have.”

“Is there–” Before Isak can finish asking for water, Vilde’s already setting a glass of it down in front of Isak on the table, smiling brightly. Isak looks up at her gratefully, before grabbing the glass and downing the water in what feels like less than a second, the cold of it settling into his stomach so nicely it almost relaxes his muscles – or allows him the pretense.

“Eat, all of you,” Vilde calls out, and the rest of the girls come over to the makeshift dinner table, grabbing at the first things they see. Fruit, bread, crackers – there’s a chicken in the middle of it, but it looks a little strange, so Isak’s not entirely sure it’s a normal chicken. His stomach isn’t really allowing him to be picky, however, as this is something he learns when it growls loudly enough for the rest of the crew to hear it. The girls laugh and hand Isak an apple, which he immediately begins to bite into as he fills his plate with other food.

As they all finish settling into the table, the door to the captain’s cabin opens, and out walks Sana, and behind her, a very normal-looking Even, no shine about him. Isak doesn’t realize just how much he’s _missed_ him until he lays eyes on him again, hair tousled and smile bright and steady on his face, his expression one of curiosity as he approaches the table with Sana – which ends up shifting into one of concern when he’s close enough to see Isak’s state.

“Oh, no,” Even says before Sana can say anything at all. He walks up to Isak and kneels down in front of him, gently bringing his hands up to inspect Isak’s face. “Did they throw you off the _ship_?”

Isak grins. “That would have been a heck of a lot easier to come back from.”

“I assume you were playing with swords and daggers,” Sana raises an eyebrow at the girls as she takes a seat at the table. “If the incessant pounding on my door and walls have anything to say about it.”

Eva smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, Sana,” she apologizes. “We just thought Isak could use some training, you know?”

Even looks back at Isak when she says that, raising an eyebrow. “You trained?”

“You’re not the only one who gets to learn life-saving techniques while on a pirate ship,” Isak teases, feeling his grin extend from ear to ear. “I don’t mean to brag, but I kicked some pirate butt today.”

“Fake-kicked my fake-butt,” Noora reminds him. “You’re aware I could still take you in a fight at any point, right?”

“A hundred percent,” Isak replies easily, less preoccupied with his pride now than before. “But it’s nice to pretend.”

“Cheers to that,” Chris says, holding up her glass. The rest of the girls join her in a toast, and fall into easy conversation while Even remains kneeled in front of Isak, his lips curled into a half-smile. Isak shrugs his shoulders slightly, making sure not to make it too much of an overt gesture so as to not invite any more pain to his muscles.

“I’m glad they didn’t throw you off the ship,” Even says, and Isak smiles at him.

“So am I.”

“It’s been strange,” Even hums thoughtfully. “Not spending the past two days entirely with you.”

Isak decides in that very moment not to read too much into that, because if he does, he knows his face will turn as red as all hell and he can’t afford that right now, not when he’s around the noseyest pirates known to mankind. Instead, he fists his palms around his trousers, nodding his head as casually as he’s able to, reminding himself to be gentle about it.

“But maybe it’s good,” he points out. “You’re getting to interact with a different kind of person, you know? I’m–” he pauses. “Well, I’m not the best example of a person.”

Even’s brows furrow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

Isak’s mouth parts even before he’s formulated an appropriate response, but he thankfully doesn’t get the chance to make an ass out of himself, because suddenly Vilde is squealing and clapping happily, interrupting his and Even’s conversation. They both turn to look at her, a little surprised, and watch as she stands from the chair and runs towards the stairs, disappearing below deck.

Isak looks at the others. “Is she, uh–”

“Noora offered to play the fiddle for her,” Eva explains, a fond smile playing on her lips. “It’s rare that Noora graces us with her musical abilities,” she teases, bumping her shoulder against Noora’s. Noora rolls her eyes at the comment, but smiles nevertheless.

“There’s usually no time,” she corrects. “But, you know, we have special guests,” she smiles. “If you wouldn’t mind a little bit of music.”

Even’s eyes light up instantly at the offer, and he finally straightens into a normal standing position. “Are you kidding?” he asks. “I love music. I’ve only ever heard it from afar.”

Noora grimaces. “I mean, I’m no _expert_ –”

Even walks towards her and kneels down in front of her, now, and takes one of her hands into both of his. Isak watches with a mix of amusement and – something _else_ as Noora’s eyes widen slightly at what Isak is sure is the intensity of Even’s gaze at the moment, something Isak’s not only grown used to in the past couple of days, but comes to revere when it’s focused on him. 

“The one thing I’ve learned from listening to music all the years I’ve been alive is that talent is nothing without passion,” he says. “If you’re passionate about what you’re playing, then I have no doubt you’re going to blow me away, Noora.”

Noora full on _blushes_ , and, much like when Vilde did the same when they first conversed – he gets it.

“Thanks,” she says weakly, seeming like she doesn’t know what else to say. Sana’s smile beside her is smug, and Eva looks completely shocked at Noora’s lack of a quip, or perhaps her inability to do much of anything other than gape at Even now, who’s grinning widely as Vilde scurries her way back up the stairs and onto the desk, a white, beautifully-crafted fiddle in one hand and a bow in the other. Even stands and gets out of Vilde’s way, allowing Vilde to practically attack Noora with the fiddle and bow as she shoves it into her chest.

“I’m stuck between requesting something slow or something upbeat,” Vilde admits, and she looks over to Eva as if waiting for her input. Eva shrugs, though she does stand from her chair and offer her hand to Vilde.

“Feel like dancing either way?” she asks, and Vilde giggles as she takes Eva’s hand.

“I would love to,” she replies, then she looks over at Noora and shrugs one shoulder. “Player’s choice?”

As Noora contemplates, Even finds a seat beside Isak, looking over and beaming at him. It brings Isak so much joy to be this close to Even again he feels incredibly stupid for a full second, and he wonders why in the hell people enjoy lingering in this feeling when all it does is make one dumb and useless.

Before Isak can say anything, Noora stands from her seat and situates the fiddle against her shoulder, straightening her posture and walking further down the deck. Eva and Vilde excitedly follow her, and after Noora takes a breath, she starts off by playing a couple of soft notes – pauses – and then begins playing a lively sort of tune, one that makes it easy for Eva and Vilde to start dancing what looks to be a very practiced dance, laughing and spinning each other easily to the tune.

Chris joins them almost immediately, and after Sana finishes her glass of water, she nods at both Isak and Even and stands to join her crew, as well. While Noora’s tapping her feet to the tune she’s playing, the rest of the girls are exchanging partners every other second, so clearly enjoying the music, the dancing, the night.

The night.

Isak looks up at the stars, then glances over at Even, who is looking excitedly at Noora and she continues to play her lively tune – seems to switch up to a different tune, but similar enough so that Isak can’t be entirely too sure – and he bumps his shoulder against his to catch his attention.

“You should go dance,” Isak tells him, and Even shakes his head.

“In a minute,” he replies. “I want to listen. I’ve never been this close.”

Isak nods and remains silent to respect Even’s wishes. Music’s always been a big part of his life, and Noora plays the fiddle expertly enough so that she makes the musicians back home look like amateurs, though Isak knows for a fact they’ve spent their whole lives practicing their instruments.

Even’s the one to talk first, despite stating he’d wanted to listen. “If I ever get back home,” he says. “I will brag nonstop about this to the other stars. Music’s one of the better things we get to experience, even from so far away.”

At the mention of the other stars, Isak’s reminded of a couple of nights back, when Emma asked him how many stars he thought there was in the night sky. Isak had dismissed her query, told her if he ever met one, he’d ask.

Well.

“Hey, Even?”

Even looks over at Isak, smiling encouragingly.

“How–” he clears his throat. “How many – are you, exactly?”

Even’s smile turns into a confused frown. “What do you mean?”

Isak gestures dumbly towards the night sky. “How many stars are up there?”

Even tilts his head. “Infinite,” Even replies to him, a funny expression on his face. It's like he’s amused and perplexed all at once with the question. “We’re an infinite amount, there’s no right number.”

Isak swallows. An infinite number, and how insignificant Isak must seem to Even now. To live amongst such beauty for years and years, to gaze down at important people in different worlds, and how ridiculously small Isak feels at this very moment.

He’s always felt it, but faced with a star, a star that has seen the greatest monuments built, the greatest inventors invent, the strongest fighters fight – well.

“What are you thinking?” Even asks suddenly, tilting his head again. Isak shakes his own.

“Nothing,” he replies, perhaps a little too quickly.

Even looks at Isak, pondering. He says nothing, but Isak feels compelled to reply anyway.

“It’s just–” isak plays with his coat nervously. “You know, I used to look up at the stars every night.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And there were just – so many, you know? So big and so vast. I couldn’t explain them. They made me feel – I don’t know. Insignificant.” Isak doesn’t dare look into Even’s eyes. He’s picking nervously at the seams of his trousers, now. “And now you’re telling me there are an infinite amount of you and I just – can’t help, uh,” he clears his throat. Isak’s never been this open about his feelings with anyone – it leaves a funny feeling in his throat. “Feel that way again. I must be – nothing, compared to what you’ve seen.”

Even is quiet only for a moment. In this moment, Isak can hear his heart beat louder by the second.

“I have lived for countless years," Even finally replies, quietly. Isak looks up to find he is glowing slightly. “And I’ve never found one soul to be insignificant.” He pauses. “Least of all you.”

Isak’s heart does something funny, feels almost like it misses a couple of beats, and he wants to say something – _anything_ to combat this feeling of complete panic – but before he can, Vilde’s dancing up to them and holding out a hand towards Even, offering him a dancing partner silently.

Even grins over at Isak before taking Vilde’s hand and allows himself to be swept away further down the deck, closer to the music Even’s so fascinated by, surrounded by the other girls as they dance and dance and dance.

Isak’s grateful for the chance to catch his breath – if it’s not the soreness of his muscles that’s bothering him, then it’s the malfunctioning of his heart as he watches Even dance happily with the others. He clearly has no idea what he’s doing, looking more like he’s imitating what he thinks to be true of dancing than actually dancing, but it’s endearing to watch nevertheless, and from a distance Isak can almost pretend he’s not absolutely terrified by the feeling that keeps creeping up on him every time Even so much as shoots him a cursory glance.

Sana finds her way out of the makeshift dance floor and takes the seat Even had taken before, right beside Isak. Her cheeks are flushed and her expression is happy, peaceful, and Isak feels her gaze first before he dares to meet it. He feels like it gives too much away, like it’s saying everything he doesn’t want to, but if it does, Sana doesn’t mention it. She only smiles at him, and points over to where the rest of the group is dancing, now at a different melody Noora’s playing.

“Did you enjoy your day with them?”

Isak nods, and is a little surprised to find that it’s the truth. “I did,” he admits. “They were kind. Patient. Helpful.” He doesn’t find many people like that back home. Not if they’re not his friends. Not if he’s not of the right status. “I can see why you keep them around.”

Sana smiles. “They’re each their own brand of special.”

Isak frowns. “I mean,” he glances over at the group. “Except for Vilde.” Considering she hadn’t done much but watch all of them fight and hand them glasses of water, Isak’s not sure what, other than a great sense of style, Vilde brings to the dynamic of the ship.

“Vilde?” Sana looks at Isak, gaze hard. “Vilde’s probably my most useful.”

Isak looks at Sana in disbelief. “ _Vilde_?” he shakes his head. “But she talks about - she’s worried about - there are things about her—”

“Noora came with me because she’s always tried new things. Eva came with me because she was lonely. Chris – well, Chris has always been with me. Vilde - Vilde came with me because she’s _strong_. She found the strength to look at her world and say _no more_. She found the strength to break free of her expectations.”

Sana looks at Isak, who is pointedly looking away. “Vilde is the strongest of my crew. Do not underestimate her. She can fight, but she chooses to do so only when she absolutely needs to, and I think you know that.” Isak fidgets, casts his gaze downward. “I think you’re afraid of that.”

Isak looks over at Vilde. She’s laughing loudly, Eva playing with her hair, eyes alight. 

She’s right. He _is_ afraid of that. He’s afraid Vilde is everything he can’t be. 

He’s afraid because he sees how happy she is, and he sees _why_ she’s happy, and he wonders if it’s really so easy. If it’s as simple as letting go.

He looks at Even. He’s talking animatedly with Noora and Chris and he’s bright at every edge of him. He’s not shining, but he might as well be — Isak is blinded by him, is overcome with affection and with admiration and he wants to know how Even’s survived tragedy after tragedy and he’s still able to see their world in color — still able to believe in love and the epics and able to dance to music and laugh and listen and learn.

Isak thinks he would have given up ages ago, had he ever been a star. He doesn’t think he’s strong enough. Not to leave, not to forget, not to go on. Not when Isak believes everything is fated, and fate’s never been on his side.

But Even — Even is strong. Even is—

Sana’s looking at him, as if she’s waiting. Isak doesn’t look at her when he says: “Maybe he’ll make me strong.”

Sana hums. Isak sees her look back at the rest of them. There’s the hint of a smile playing at her lips. “No,” she tells him. “I think you have to be strong all on your own.”

“And then?”

“And then,” Sana pauses. “And then you can have a little help.”

“Him.”

“Yes,” Sana breathes a huff of laughter. “You can have him, as well.”

He blushes, but before he can object to Sana’s tone, Even’s coming up to him, grinning brightly. 

“You can’t just sit and look,” Even says, holding out a hand to Isak. Isak blinks at it stupidly for a second before shaking his head, smiling crookedly up at him.

“Oh, no, I’m — I’m sore, and—”

“Just one dance,” Even pleads. “You don’t have to move any more than you want to, I promise. Besides,” he adds, and his tone shifts ever so slightly into one of melancholy. “Who knows when we’ll get the chance to again, you know?”

That’s absolutely not fair, and Isak is pretty sure Even knows it. Still, he’s not _wrong_ , however unfair he might think it is, so he glances at Sana (who’s looking at Isak very, very smugly now, which does nothing to help with his blushing situation) and then back at Even, hesitantly taking his hand. 

“Fine,” Isak says. “But I promise you this is not going to go as smoothly as you’re envisioning.”

Even doesn’t seem to expect much from Isak, which is just as well, considering that when he’s dragged onto the deck where the rest of the girls are enjoying their dancing, he — well, he’s not exactly the most graceful one of the group, per se. But that’s not the marvelous thing. The marvelous thing is that none of them seem to mind what he is or isn’t doing; they’re having fun. And fun is something Isak can get behind, after years of worrying, after years of looking over his shoulder, after years of trying to ignore the whispers, trying to do right by his father and whatever legacy he might leave in the future. 

Fun is something Isak can get behind after fate has so often fucked him right over, taken control away from him at every turn. But tonight, it seems to have landed on his side, and he dances in a silly manner, with Even, with Vilde, with Eva, with Chris, with Noora, and, eventually, Sana joins them again as well. He forgets, while this moment lasts, that they’re in a world governed by and littered with magic; forgets that they’re on a flying ship, soaring through the sky unbothered, seemingly knowing where to go without a navigator; forgets that this world is not his own, not really, and lives in this very moment, and in no other.

He looks at Even, and he’s shining brighter than he’s ever seen him shine. It’s no mystery why — the grin on his face as he switches dance partners every other minute says it all. He’s happy, and if Isak would take a moment right here and now, he’d realize he’s happy, too. Happy. Happy. The feeling that’s eluded him for so long: happiness. He’d realize it, yes, if he’d only think about it, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he dances and rejoices, and the night moves on and the stars move past.


	7. day six

They reach Port Laundrent the next morning, and Isak and Even have to solemnly pack away their things as they arrive. Neither of them say what they’re both most likely thinking — they’ll miss this place. They’ll miss these people. They’ll miss what adventure and brightness they brought into their lives, and it’s most likely that once they part ways, they will never see each other again. Not if both of them go home.

Isak grabs his mother’s glass flower and twirls it in between his thumb and his index finger; he spares a thought for the woman he was supposed to meet instead of Even, instead of these wonderful pirates, and decides that dwelling on the fact would only add to his melancholy, so he pockets the flower; this time, however, he does so in the front pocket of his dress shirt, where the flower is visible, as if perhaps, by the very chance Isak doesn’t believe in, it might attract his mother, if they’re to be lucky enough to cross paths with her.

Even sighs loudly by the other end of the room, and Isak looks over, seeing him sitting on the bed, head bowed. Isak frowns and walks towards him, takes a seat beside him on the bed.

“Alright?” Isak asks, and Even glances up at him, offering Isak a tiny smile. 

“Just breathing.”

Isak nods. Figures, what with all the training he’s been doing with Sana. He doesn’t look particularly dim or bright — just. Normal. Or as normal as Even can look, considering he’s already extraordinary to look at sans any of that star junk. Either way, Isak figures Even’s doing good with the breathing, because although his expression looks dejected, his shine neither flares nor diminishes. He hesitates for a moment before reaching out and wrapping his hand around Even’s wrist, squeezing gently.

“I’m gonna miss them, too,” he confesses, and Even’s smile quirks up a little more. 

“I’ve been very lucky,” he admits. “To have met the people I have. To have made the choices I’ve made.”

Isak laughs once. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Even,” he says, taking his hand back. “But your choices probably had very little to do with this.”

Even frowns. “What do you mean?”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, what do I mean? Look around,” he gestures at the small room they’ve been inhabiting for the past three days. “We never had a say on whether or not we wanted to end up here. It just — happened. Fate’s a tricky fucker,” he says. “We don’t get to choose. Not really. We only have the semblance of choice, when it really matters.”

Even’s head tilts, and though his expression is no longer sad, it’s now more confused than anything. “Do you really believe that?” he asks, sounding disbelieving himself. “Do you really believe you don’t have a choice?”

“You’re a star,” he points out. “You tell me.”

Even’s frown deepens. “I—”

Before he can finish that thought, however, they’re interrupted by a knock at their door. If a knock could sound sad, then this knock would be the one to sound so, and by the consistency of it Isak deduces it’s Vilde on the other side.

He looks at Even and shrugs. “You ready?”

Even looks at him for a moment longer, seemingly debating something; but whatever it is, Isak doesn’t get to find out, because before he can ask Even’s nodding and standing from the bed, letting out another deep breath.

“I’m ready,” he says. He looks at Isak once he stands, too. “Let’s go see Emma, yeah?”

Oh, shit. Right. That.

That’s the whole — point of this. She is, Isak means. Emma. Why does he keep forgetting? Is she truly so easy to forget?

“Sure,” Isak croaks, shaking the doubt out of his system, as per usual. “Yeah, let’s go — do that.”

Even walks over to the door and opens it to reveal a solemn-looking Vilde, arms crossed behind her back as she looks up at Even. She seems to be holding back tremendously, and she does a good job of it for two or three seconds, before she seems to burst with anticipation and readily jumps up towards Even, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down for a hug.

“Oh, I’m going to miss you,” she says, voice slightly muffled by the angle in which she’s found herself in. “Can stars write? Can you write to us?”

Even huffs a laugh, wrapping his arms around Vilde’s waist in return. “I’ll find a way,” he promises, and he sounds serious, even though Isak highly doubts he will. “However long it takes me.”

Vilde sniffles into Even’s shoulder. “Don’t let it take you too long, okay?” She asks of him, before letting go of him and pulling back. She peeks around Even and looks at Isak, who is waving lamely at her. Vilde sighs loudly and walks past Even and makes a beeline for Isak, who hardly has a chance to protest before she’s already pulling him down for a hug, too. “You can write,” she reminds him. “Write to us.”

“I don’t think my postman will know how to reach you,” he jokes lamely, patting the small of Vilde’s back awkwardly. “But, uh — I’ll try my best.”

Before Vilde can reply, Isak catches sight of the rest of the girls, sans Sana, walking up to the door, all of them with similar expressions: sorrow. And Isak would find it incredibly corny, if only he couldn’t feel an expression very similar to all of theirs on his own face, too. 

“We’re about to land,” Noora tells them. “Sana’s got to handle the paperwork up there, but she’ll say goodbye when you’re up there.”

Vilde pulls away when she hears Noora, wiping at her nose with her arm. Isak glances towards his shoulder, secretly hoping it’s not filled with snot now.

“It was — a great honor meeting you,” Eva says, sounding smaller than Isak’s ever heard her sound. “Both of you. We’ll never forget you, I promise.”

“And neither will we,” Even promises in return, and he begins to hug the rest of the girls. Isak’s not sure how he’s so easy with affection when he’s only been an actual human man for, like, a minute. Things must come easy when you’re a star, he supposes. Though he doesn’t think he’d have Even any other way, if you were to ask him. 

Eva looks at Isak and waves him over. Isak awkwardly walks past Vilde and stands beside Even, now in front of Eva. He scratches the back of his head, his hair feeling a little dry, then he offers Eva one of his patented awkward waves.

“This is for you,” Eva says, ignoring his wave. She pulls out the longsword from the sheath around her waist, turning the hilt towards Isak. Isak blinks stupidly down at it — it’s the one he’d trained with yesterday, markings and all.

“Why?” Isak blurts, looking up at Eva, confused. Eva rolls her eyes and forces the hilt of the sword into Isak’s palm. She reaches towards her waist and unties her belt with the sheath, then closes the distance between them as she wraps the belt around Isak, instead.

“You’ve gotta protect yourself,” she reminds him. “We’re not going to send you out there unarmed when you’re walking around with a whole-ass star.”

Isak is too flabbergasted to reply, and Chris takes this opportunity to place a smaller sheath on his new belt, then slides one of her personalized daggers in there, too. 

“I’d offer you the other one, too, but, you know,” Chris shrugs her shoulders. “I gotta have at least one, too.”

“You don’t have to—”

Eva holds up a hand. “We are well aware of what we do and don’t have to do,” she tells him. “We want to.”

“We just want to know you’ll be safe out there,” Noora adds as Vilde saunters up towards Eva, leaning against her as her girlfriend wraps an arm around her waist. “This — this’ll make us feel better, alright?”

Isak looks at Even desperately, who looks — fond, of all things. So he’s of no help here, naturally.

He turns back to the girls and blinks rapidly, feeling completely and utterly stupid and unworthy of this much affection. He doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t know how to handle it. These girls know nothing about who he is, where he comes from, what his status is, and yet — they care about his well-being, about Even’s well-being, and they just…like him. They like him because he’s the way that he is, and even with all the flaws that come with him, they seem to truly just — not mind.

“Thank you,” he huffs, not knowing what in the hell else he can say to express his gratitude and overall shock at this display. “Just — yeah,” he clears his throat. “Thanks.”

The girls all exchange a simultaneous glance, secret smiles on all of their faces, but they say absolutely nothing in return.

Noora looks up. “We’ve landed,” she says, and how the fuck she can know this, Isak has no idea. He’s wiping furiously at his eyes with both his palms, though, so maybe he’s just not paying enough attention. “We should get you guys up there quickly. The quicker you walk, the longer it’ll take anyone to track you.”

Isak lets his hands fall back once again and nods. He and Even follow the rest girls up the stairs and onto the deck, where the light of day hits them as expected, but this time, the smell of the sea also greets Isak’s nose. He looks back and realizes they’ve docked on the ocean, this time, instead of a cloud, which makes him realize just how close they really are to the wall this time. Two or three days’ walk, Sana had said when they’d first arrived. It make sense.

They make their way to where Sana’s waiting on the loading dock, arms crossed, expression inscrutable. The girls hug both of them one more time before letting them go on ahead and towards Sana, who greets them with a slight nod once they’re close enough. 

“There’s not much to it from here,” she tells them, pointing towards the town a little further up the marina. “Follow the signs. They won’t steer you wrong. And if all else fails, catch a ride. Just—” she frowns. “Be careful who you trust, alright?”

Even nods. “We promise we’ll be careful.”

Sana nods once, and for a split second, Isak sees something like worry cross her expression, but it’s gone as soon as it appears. “When you’re back in Norway—” she pauses. “Just. Remember that the world is a lot bigger, alright?” She looks straight at Isak when she says that. “Don’t forget what you’ve seen here. There’s a lot more to the world than what others want you to believe.”

Isak laughs quietly. “I don’t think there’s any way I could forget.”

Sana shakes her head once. “You’d be surprised,” she says quietly, something dark passing through her gaze, but once again, it comes and goes quickly as ever. She glances at Even, then back at Isak. “Get him home, alright?”

Isak’s heart squeezes at the words. He wants to. He wants Even to go back to where he belongs. It’s just — it’s just. “I will,” he says, a little quietly. “I plan to.”

Even doesn’t say anything. 

Sana hugs the both of them goodbye, and tells them to hurry. The sooner they leave, the sooner they’ll get to where they need to go, and the quicker they move, the less chance of Sonja tracking them successfully and finding them. Isak and Even thank her one last time before walking off the ship and onto the marina, where the seaside air and the sound of the calm waves hitting the shore are a welcome change of pace to nothing but endless sky and roaring wind.

Even looks out at the ocean, his eyes sparkling as his hair moves in tandem with the slight breeze. Isak looks at him.

“Prettier up close?” He guesses, and Even looks at him and smiles. 

“Most things are,” he admits. “Though there are some exceptions.”

“Paintings,” he guesses, wrinkling his nose. “Some of those things are messes when you look up close.”

Even laughs, and Isak’s stomach does that dumb thing it does when he manages to make him laugh. “No,” he says. “I didn’t mean the opposite, just — some things are just as beautiful from afar as they are up close.”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “Is the ocean one of them?”

Even seems to search for something in Isak’s gaze, then shakes his head when it seems he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. What is it, Isak wants to ask? What can I offer you, what can I give you? I’ll try. I want to try.

“Definitely prettier up close,” he says, looking back at the ocean. “Maybe one day I’ll swim in it. Not now, though,” he adds quickly, as if he knows Isak’s about to suggest they swim in it now. “We don’t have that long, remember?”

Isak grimaces. “I remember.”

Even points at a sign near them. “Should we—?”

Isak nods. “We should.”

Even smiles at him, a little sadly. “I think we can do something as easy as following signs, right?”

—

It turns out they are terrible at following signs.

They spend most of the day being confused by the spelling of the signs, which seem to be hastily scribbled on, and sometimes they’ll be crossed out and amended in an even hastier way, rendering them absolutely useless. 

More often than not Isak has to stop and ask for directions, making sure Even stays as far away as possible as he does, but the people he ends up asking are either not a fan of humans (ogres, particularly, don’t seem to take kindly to Isak walking up to them and asking where the border town might be) or they have absolutely no idea where they are, either. Once in a while, Isak will ask three different people, if only to make sure their directions coincide with each other’s, and they almost never do.

They’re both tired and hungry by the time night falls, and they’ve found themselves in a grassy field, where all they can see from a distance are hills and more hills and more hills. Isak’s pretty sure they’ve found themselves further from the wall than nearer to it, and now they’ve no other choice but to stop for the night.

They don’t say anything to each other as they’re settling down — there’s not much to say, Isak supposes, considering they’re both in considerably fouler moods than they had been when they’d left Port Laundrent. Though that might only be Isak — ever since Even trained with Sana about his shine, he’s been harder to read than before, so he could very well be okay with all of this, as far as Isak knows.

It feels familiar: the way the grass tickles at his back, the stars illuminating the night sky so overwhelmingly. Except this time, it’s — different. Different, because lying beside him is one of those stars, and he looks nothing like the stars Isak’s been watching his whole entire life. If anything, he’s that much more extraordinary and illuminating, but he doesn’t seem to know it. He doesn’t seem to understand it. And Isak has no idea how to convey this without sounding…strange, at best.

Isak glances over at Even, whose expression looks a little wistful as he looks at the sky, perhaps taking comfort in knowing Isak is probably in his own head. He feels his brows furrow.

“Do you miss it?” he asks quietly, and Even looks over at Isak quickly, surprised.

“What?”

“The sky,” Isak explains. “Do you miss it? Being up there and — you know,” he gestures obscurely. “Seeing everything.”

Even frowns, turns his gaze back up to the sky. His mouth parts, but no response comes out of him for a second. Then: “Kind of.”

Isak’s brows rise. “Kind of?”

“I don’t—” Even pauses. “I didn’t realize how — lonely it is, up there. Until now.”

Isak doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t get me wrong, being able to see — the best and the worst of this world, all at once, is an incredible gift, but — we don’t do much, do we? It’s no life, not really. We don’t — get to interact, meet new people, do the things you do down here. Make the connections you make. Learn to — to care about something, or someone,” Even glances at Isak for a split second before his gaze moves back up the sky. “It’s stagnant. You live forever, really, but what are you really living for if you can’t — have something to live for?” Even sucks the side of his cheek between his teeth for a second, before releasing it. 

“I thought I was happy, but then I live down here for a couple of days and I — I get to move. I get to choose what happens to me next. That’s — that’s amazing,” he laughs once. “Up there, I’m just a sprinkle in the chaos, hardly anything but — but a spot, but down here I can — I can choose where I want to go, where life takes me, what I want to happen and — who to care about. Who to look after. Who to—” Even breathes out. “Anyway. I miss the idea of it. It’s almost — uh, nostalgic, maybe. But — being here, it’s—” Another pause. “I realize it’s a short life, but what I said before — it’s true.” He looks at Isak. “Almost everything is better up close.”

Isak understands the sentiment. He does. And, were they not so fucking lost and tired and hungry, he might have let it all go. As it stands, though, he’s so fucking lost and tired and hungry, that he has to point something out — just a bit. Just a little bit.

“It’s not all it seems to be, Even,” he tells him honestly. “You might think you have a choice, but — but sometimes fate will deal you with a terrible card, and there’s — there’s pain,” he adds. “There’s unfairness. There’s intricacies in everything, and not all of them are good. I don’t — I told you before, choice is an illusion, it’s not real, it’s — we don’t get to choose what happens to us.” Isak shakes his head once. “If we did, things would be — they’d be different.”

Even raises an eyebrow. “How?”

He wouldn’t be here, for one. If he'd had the choice, he would’ve chosen not to marry Emma, and this — none of this would have happened. His father wouldn’t have told him about his mother, the Babylon candle wouldn’t have fucked up his traction, and — who knows? Maybe he would have been able to find happiness back home. He would have never known of this world across the wall. Never have met Even. If choices mattered, if they were real — what would have happened to the possibility of this?

“They just would be,” Isak says instead, and Even scoffs. 

“Everything is based on choice, Isak,” Even says matter-of-factly. “I’ve lived long enough to realize that.”

There is a long pause.

“You were literally knocked out of the sky by a flying necklace.”

“A fair point.”

“Besides,” Isak scrambles to sit up, now indignant. “Don’t you think if we had an actual choice, we wouldn’t have met?” He looks at Even, who is still looking up at the stars (at his home) pensively. “If you hadn’t been knocked out of the sky — _not by choice_ — and if I hadn’t—” Backtrack. “—thought about Emma accidentally while blowing out the Babylon candle, this wouldn’t be happening.”

Even says nothing for a moment, then turns to look at Isak again. “I chose to come with you,” he points out. “I could have very well chosen to stay where I was, hm?”

Isak’s a little aggravated now, but he’s not sure if he’s aggravated at Even or at the thought of Even ever choosing not to come with him. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “Guess we’ll agree to disagree.”

Isak pointedly stares out into the distance, but Even’s gaze is heavy on his profile. Isak’s annoyed that he’s always so — so aware of Even’s presence. He doesn’t think it’s fair, the things he does to his head, the things he does to his stomach. He wonders if it’s a “star” thing, or just an “Even” thing. 

“Are you mad?” Even asks suddenly, and Isak shakes his head.

“No,” he sighs. “Just thinking.”

“Oh,” Even nods, something Isak catches through his peripheral. “You’re thinking about how we’re probably not gonna make it in time, right?”

“Wow,” Isak deadpans. “I _would_ be stuck with the most pessimistic star in all of existence.”

There’s another long stretch of silence. “Do you love her?” Even pipes up, once again just as suddenly, staring intensely at Isak.

“What?” Isak nearly snaps, as if he doesn’t know exactly what Even’s referencing.

“Emma,” he replies. “You’ve never said if you do. You’ve talked about how you have to get me back to her in order to have her hand in marriage, but you’ve never actually said the words.”

Isak squirms. He doesn’t want to lie to Even. They’ve started being completely honest with each other — save for some choice omissions on Isak’s part, of course — and it feels like a cheap copout to lie about this, anyway. “I could,” he echoes the words he’d used with his father in the conversation that took place in what seems to be a long, long time ago now. But it’s only truly been a couple of days, hasn’t it?

Even looks pensive. “I don’t know much about love,” he starts. “But what I do know about it — makes me think—” He pauses. “That maybe — maybe you couldn’t.”

Isak huffs a morose laugh. “Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “Sometimes we don’t get to choose, Even,” he brings up his earlier point. “Sometimes it’s fated.”

Even furrows his brows. “I — maybe,” he thinks about it for a second. “But don’t you think you’d want to at least _try_ to make a choice?”

A choice would lead to his father’s reputation taking the hit. A choice would lead to ridicule and hatred and a terrible life from this point forth. Even doesn’t understand that choices — they don’t come easy. They never have. They never will.

Not for him, anyway.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Okay,” Even agrees immediately. “We won’t talk about it anymore.”

Isak falls back onto the grass and links his fingers together, laying them on his stomach. He lets his eyes close again, and counts his breaths.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Isak’s count falters, as does his exhale. His eyes open and he turns to look at Even, who is gazing at him earnestly, and Isak feels the pit of his stomach grow twice its size, too big for where it sits. 

“I’m not angry,” Isak says, and he finds he’s telling the truth. He’s not angry. He doesn’t think he can find it in himself to be angry at Even, even in the most dire of situations. Not even when Even’s naivety is as prominent as the shine of the stars above them, a direct relation that taunts Isak quietly. He plays with his fingernails for a moment, contemplating, before sighing. “It’s just — been a long week.”

Even’s smile is shaky. “You’re telling me.”

Isak can feel his expression sour. Of course. He’s been feeling sorry for himself all this time, and he keeps — he keeps forgetting Even has no way home anymore. They’ve used the rest of the Babylon candle, there’s no certainty for him, no possibility. Isak’s sitting here, arguing about fate and choices, when Even’s fated to live the rest of his life away from the only home he’s ever known, and he’s still humoring Isak’s fruitless endeavor. 

He turns on his side and reaches a hand out to Even. Even looks at Isak’s hand for a moment, before hesitantly reaching out and taking it. Isak pretends not to feel drowned in the smoothness of the star’s palm, pretends like it doesn’t send a lightning strike, Stormhold-strong, down his heart, splitting it in two.

“I’m going to get you home,” he promises quietly, and Even’s face clears. His smile is small, tentative, but instead of being hopeful, like Isak had wanted it to be, it’s a little rueful.

“I know,” he says. “You are a man who can do just about anything you put your mind to.”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Even laughs softly, squeezes Isak’s hand. Lightning strikes twice, impossibly. “You traveled into a different world to find your mother. You found a star. You convinced that star to go with you as a gift to your belov—to Emma. You fought off a witch, whose magic never touched you. You braved pirates — befriended them, even! — learned how to fight in the span of two days. You, Isak Valtersen, are a man of many gifts, and I am honored to call you — to call you a friend.”

Isak’s throat is tied in several different impossible knots. A friend, Even says, but it sounds like so much more to Isak’s ears, and were he anyone else, were he of stronger will, he’d reach out and _taste_ , the way his heart is begging to.

Were he a braver man, the night would pass for the both of them in tandem, and they’d never wonder about the light of day again.

But he’s not, and so he smiles softly, squeezes Even’s hand. If that’s all he can have of him, if that’s the only part of him that he can confidently hold, then he’ll take it. He squeezes his hand, and he closes his eyes.

Isak has never been a brave man. But he is of quiet admittance, and he allows himself to have this moment. 

There is silence, and it stretches long and painfully, until he feels Even’s thumb stroke the back of his hand.

“I wish I knew what you were thinking,” Even says quietly, and Isak huffs a small laugh.

“You know us humans,” he mutters through a yawn. “Complicated creatures.”

He doesn’t know if Even replies or not — sleep takes him under but a moment later, Even’s hand still clutched in his.


	8. day seven

Waking after sleeping on the grass, it seems, is not as peaceful as Isak’s been led to believe in the myriad of stories he’s been told.

Don’t get him wrong, the fact that he wakes to Even’s hand still somehow loosely tangled in his might more than make up for the uncomfortable aching in his back, but it’s hard to revel in the moment when the only thing he feels is a stiff spine and the only thing he hears is the loud, unbearable sound of—

Isak scrambles to sit up, blinking sleep away as quickly as he’s able to. Even shifts beside him, groans a little, but Isak ignores him in favor of narrowing his eyes to better his sights, and they set on—

Yes. There’s a peculiar-looking yellow carriage coming their way — _their way_ — and Isak feels their luck begin to change. Though the last time they were granted amnesty in the middle of nowhere it turned into two murder attempts, the carriage seems disinterested enough, in the ways carriages do, and it seems to be headed straight past them, paying them no mind.

Isak gently taps on Even’s shoulder before he moves to stand. “Come on,” he says. “We may finally make it to where we need to.”

He hears Even sigh deeply behind him, but Isak doesn’t have time to analyze what this particular brand of exhale means this time, because he’s too busy running towards the carriage and waving his hands in the space above him like a lunatic.

“Hey!” he calls, and his voice sounds hoarse, still. “Hey!”

The carriage carries on.

Isak grunts in frustration, fastens his pace towards the carriage. “Wait!” he calls. “We need your help!”

It’s here that his sight sharpens, and he can make out the shape of an elderly-looking woman riding the horse that pulls the carriage, and — Isak frowns — a bird cage hanging beside her?

The woman seems to spot him just as he spots the bird, and she fastens her pace to reach him before slowing to a stop, looking at Isak suspiciously, as if he’s the one wearing what looks like leaves for clothes and branches for hair accessories.

He will never understand this place.

“Hi,” Isak breathes, and he feels Even walk up behind him, though a small ways away, as if to not draw suspicion onto himself. “Thank you for stopping. We’re — we’re headed towards the border town, near the wall? I have to—”

The elderly woman screeches unnaturally, and Isak instinctively steps back, startled. She climbs off her horse in a huff, pointing accusingly at Isak’s chest. “That is _mine_.”

Isak looks down at himself, and blinks. “Uh — sorry?”

The woman screeches again. “That _flower_ , that is _mine_ , I’ve spent over a decade looking for it — give it back.”

Isak looks at his chest again, notes the glass flower he’s been wearing proudly on his chest pocket since they left the ship, innocently sitting like it hasn’t moved a single inch since.

Even scoffs. “No, it was his _mother’s_ , don’t be such a blatant liar.”

The woman not only completely ignores Even’s words and his general vicinity, but she speaks over him, as well, as if he hadn’t been speaking at all. “ _Now_ , boy.”

Isak looks at the woman. “Ah, no?”

The woman’s expression turns thunderous and she steps forward, looking ready to pull Isak by the hair, and Isak acts on the lessons he’s been taught these past few days: he unsheathes his sword and points it directly towards the elderly woman, who looks surprised at his boldness, but smartly halts her movements.

Her expression clears slightly, and an unattractive smile pulls at her lips. “But of course,” she says. “My mistake. That was very rude of me. You were looking for a ride?”

“Safe passage to the wall,” Even clarifies, and Isak nods.

“Yes, that,” he agrees. “You see, we seem to have gotten lost, and—”

“I’ll do it,” the woman agrees hastily, eyeing Isak’s chest hungrily. Isak squirms under her gaze, waiting for the catch. 

“Thank you,” he says. “We’ll, uh, we’ll find some way to pay you—”

“That,” she points at the glass flower, and Isak sighs.

“You want the flower.”

“Yes.”

Even scoffs again, louder. “No,” he refuses. “No, Isak, that was you _mother’s_ —”

“It’s just a flower,” Isak mutters, taking said small flower gingerly between his fingers. He looks at it, a little forlorn, the feeling settling in the pit of his stomach uncomfortably. It’s just a flower, he tells himself once again, and it is.

It’s not his mother — it may have belonged to her, once, but his mother isn’t this. His mother’s never been _this_. His mother is the words on a parchment back home, telling him she loves him, apologizing for being absent. His mother is the brightness of his father’s eyes when he told Isak the story of her, how her laugh reached his toes. His mother is the foresight of sending a Babylon candle, knowing they’d see each other again one day. His mother is Isak’s knowledge of her, despite no memory of her, and knowing that somewhere here, maybe, his mother still thinks of him, and loves him. If not the memory of her, then her memory of him keeps them alive.

So he looks over at an irritated-looking Even and smiles at him reassuringly, shakes his head once. “It’s just a flower,” he says, but this time his voice is more confident than before, and Even looks at him for a long moment, searching Isak’s gaze.

He doesn’t know what Even finds, but he seems satisfied in it either way — he offers Isak a smile in return, and if Isak hadn’t thought he was doing the right thing before, he definitely would have felt so now.

Isak turns back to the elderly woman and holds up the glass flower. Snowdrop, his father had said his mother had called it. He holds up the Snowdrop, and raises an eyebrow. 

“I have your word?” he asks. “You’ll give us safe passage to the wall.”

The elderly woman smiles, though Isak can’t tell if it’s kind or impatient. He’s leaning towards the latter, however. “You have my word,” she bows her head slightly. “You’ll reach the wall in the exact same condition you arrived.”

Isak exchanges a glance with Even. Even sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, then gives Isak a look that clearly reads: it’s up to you.

And so, Isak hands the Snowdrop back to the elderly woman.

Her smile turns from seemingly impatient to something coy and ugly. Isak feels his stomach swirl in the beginnings of regret. “Do you have any idea what you just handed to me?”

Isak furrows his brows. He feels Even step closer to his side. “My father said it was like a lucky charm, or something.”

The elderly woman tuts. “Much more than that,” she quips. “In fact, it’s the exact sort of thing that would have prevented me from doing this to you.”

Before Isak can truly understand what she’s saying to him, he feels his vision begin to blur, and the feeling in his hands and feet diminish. He blinks heavily, attempting to adjust to the sudden bleariness of him, but he suddenly feels as if he’s made of clay, being molded by an invisible hand to become something he isn’t. The feeling isn’t painful — it’s more disorienting, and though half of his mind is lost in oblivion, the other half of it is still alert enough to understand that he should be panicking. This isn’t normal — he can’t cry out, he can’t move of his own will, and his line of sight is suddenly equivalent to that of the elderly woman’s bare feet, where the yellow of her toenails start to look as green as the grass beneath them.

He doesn’t know how long this feeling lasts for: all he knows is when it stops, and he attempts to speak, what comes out of his vocal chords sounds more like a squeak than it does any words, and he—

It takes him a moment to catch up, but suddenly the elderly woman’s — the _witch’s_ — face is near his, and he’s being scooped into her hands like he’s as light as air. “I had to do it,” she’s telling him, and Isak can hear Even’s shouts of protest that simply go unnoticed by the witch. “I can’t have you telling anyone you’ve seen me. I’ve already been cursed by another of my kin, the last thing I want is her finding me because of some strange boy who _talks_ to himself.”

Isak is confused, and he hopes the squeak that comes out of him at least _sounds_ confused, but he can’t be sure of anything anymore. He wonders, vaguely, what form he’s taken, and then he wonders, in passing, if the Snowdrop is the reason the fire didn’t touch him and Even for so long, when Sonja was so maliciously after them back at the not-inn.

Iska barely registers Even through his peripheral vision — he seems to be struggling to come near the witch, which is probably something Isak’ll have to pocket for later. He attempts to focus and not let his mind wander, as it’s attempting to do every other second. 

“Luckily for you, I have experience with shapeshifters,” the witch continues, glancing behind her. Isak remembers, for a second, the birdcage that sat beside her. He glances over to it, and there — a beautiful white bird, staring intensely at him, as if it, too, knows what Isak is struggling with at the moment. “And I will keep my word, for what is a witch without her word? I’ll take you to the wall. Keep your squeaking to a minimum,” she snaps, and Isak almost squeaks out of pure spite. “We shouldn’t be long from here. If you’d have kept walking, you might have arrived by the end of today.”

Good to know, Isak thinks bitterly. 

Focus, focus, focus. He tries to find Even, who looks both worried and unsure of what to do next. Isak wants to find a way to tell him to run — it’s probably not a good idea for a star to be hanging around a witch — but the star seems to have an inkling that Isak keeps trying to remind himself to remember, but keeps forgetting he forgets.

Even follows the witch and Isak, whatever he is at the moment, towards the carriage, balls fisted at his sides, but eyes determined. When the witch opens the back of the carriage, Even makes his way inside, and the witch all but ignores him.

“Isak,” he says slowly. “I don’t think she can hear me.” He pauses. “Or see me. Or touch me, or — any of the normal things,” he glances at Isak, his expression contorting into one of worry. “Right. You’re a squirrel.”

He’s a fucking _squirrel_?

He couldn’t have been turned into something a little more majestic, like the bird outside?

As if he knows exactly what Isak is thinking, Even says, “Could have been worse. You could have been a rat.”

A rat is at least more intimidating than a _squirrel_ , Isak thinks bitterly. Though he hasn’t had enough run-ins with squirrels to know for sure. 

He knows he really shouldn’t have a preference for what he should be turned into against his will by a crazy witch, but he’s found himself in the middle of an unprecedented position, in which he supposes he’s granted said preference, and it appears “squirrel” is not at the top of his list, nor should it be at the top of anybody’s.

“I’ll find a way to fix this,” Even promises Isak as the witch opens up a small cage and sets him inside. Isak doesn’t know what to reply — mostly because the extent of what he _can_ reply at the moment, he thinks, would all sound the same — so he stays silent, hoping that his glare translates from squirrel to human contempt. “As soon as we get to the wall, we’ll find a way to turn you back.”

More time wasted, he thinks, but not bitterly. It’s not as if he’s bursting to see Emma again. Maybe being turned into a squirrel is a blessing in disguise.

The witch throws a nut inside his cage, and closes the door.

Isak stares at the nut.

He hates it here.

The witch leaves the back of the carriage, whistling contently, and closes the doors behind her harshly, settling them with the lock. Isak doesn’t know how long there’s no movement, or a single breath from Even, but eventually he feels the world around him start again, and he assumes they’ve begun to move.

Isak glances over at Even, who is staring at him. His brows are furrowed, and he looks — worried, yes, which is normal, he thinks, but mostly Isak can only think of how _adorable_ he looks when he’s frowning in concern. There’s a small pout to his lips that makes Isak almost incredibly angry he hadn’t reached out last night like he’d wanted to impulsively and _tasted_. He’s a squirrel now, and who knows for how much longer, and now he may never — he may never—

“Can you understand me?”

A good question. Isak can, but he’s not sure how to let Even _know_. He can’t very well simply say yes, and a squeak feels ambiguous. 

Isak looks at the nut. Is _that_ something?

He reaches for the nut, takes a crack at cracking it.

He gets so distracted by how easily it seems to be coming to him, cracking open this nut, that he forgets Even asked him a question until he hears the star sigh quietly. Isak looks up at watches as Even settles back against the carriage wall, settling into the makeshift seat he’d found for himself, and smiles sadly towards Isak. “I guess it was too much to ask for you to understand me,” he says, and right, that’s what Isak was going to try to convey. Focus, focus, focus.

But the nut, though.

He’s distracted for a moment again, and then Even starts talking and Isak feels — feels like maybe that’s what it is. Maybe if Even keeps talking to him, the part of Isak that is Isak — this shopboy, brought here by fate, faced with a beautiful star, a beautiful _man_ , someone so incredibly stunning and vibrant and better than most people Isak has ever known — maybe that part of him is present longer. He can focus on the cadence of Even’s voice, the melody of his words, and if he takes it one word at a time, he can remember. He can stay here.

“I was thinking a lot last night,” Even starts, and Isak allows the words, the tone of them, to envelop him, keep him as human as he has the right to. “After you went to sleep. About — about everything we’d talked about. You know, choices, fate. The like.”

Right. That wonderful conversation.

“And I think—” Even exhales, pauses. Isak hangs onto the echo of his words. “I think maybe you're right. Maybe we _were_ fated to meet each other. The necklace, the candle — maybe it was all meant to lead me to you.” 

Even looks pensive for a moment. Isak’s unsure where this is going — if Even believes Isak can’t understand him, why acknowledge any of this now?

“But I can’t begrudge fate for that, can I?” Even glances at Isak, who does nothing but stare back. “No, I don’t think I can. And I don’t,” he holds a hand to his heart. Isak is very aware of him, taller, bigger, and it’s always seemed like this is what Even’s been around Isak, even before it was literal. Taller, bigger, larger than life, larger than anything that has the right to live so peacefully inside Isak. “I _thank_ it, even. For leading me to you.”

Another pause. “But I also had a choice,” he shifts his weight, seemingly nervous. Isak simply continues to listen. “And I chose to come with you. And I chose to like you. And I chose to—”

A longer pause, this time. Isak repeats the words in his head, to keep himself grounded, keep his mind here. I chose, I chose, I chose, I chose—

“—to love you,” Even laughs, the sound of it slightly disbelieving. 

If Isak had any human autonomy over his body, he’d be shaking, maybe bouncing, maybe throwing himself into Even’s arms. As it is, his heart feels as if it’s about to burst out of his tiny squirrel body, searching for the warmth brought about by Even’s presence. He thinks of the way Even feels close to him, the way his touch is smooth and wonderful, the way he sees the world like it’s more than it is, the way he looks at Isak in a similar way. He thinks of the way Even says his name, like it’s a secret of their own, and the way the feeling of their hands intertwined transcends even the most impossible of thoughts, and he thinks of the way Even smiles, like every one he offers Isak is unique to him, and he thinks of the way Even laughs, and he feels it in his toes.

If Isak had any way of saying so, he’d blurt _I love you, too_. 

I love you, too, he wants to say. He wants to scream it, so desperately. He wants everyone to know it. He wants everyone to know that this is what love is, not what he’s been forced to believe it was. This, this absolute catastrophe inside him that makes him want nothing but Even’s _happiness_ , his safety, makes him want nothing more than a simple life in which he gets to wake up to Even every single morning, to the way his hair tousles to one side, the way his eyes shine bluest against the early light of dawn. Makes him want nothing more than the comfort of knowing Even loves him, and that maybe the world, whatever side of the wall it’s on, matters little in comparison.

“I did, I _chose_ that. That was me. No one told me to, Isak. Not fate, not the universe, not the other stars. Love — I lied, when I said I didn’t know much about it. I know it, I know _centuries_ of it, it was my favorite thing to look down on when things looked bleak, when war took over; sometimes it was scary,” Even admits, and his eyes are shining, like he’s holding back tears. “How hateful the world underneath me could become. The atrocities that could be committed, like you were all — expendable, careless. But love,” he sighs.

“Love was always alive, everywhere I looked. It reminded me that even in the darkest of moments, the bleakest of centuries — love could be the driving force. It could be the deciding factor between life and death, rich and poor. But I never — I never _felt_ it before,” Even swallows. “I couldn’t have described it to you then. I thought such a powerful emotion merited a powerful exhibition, you know? I thought love was meant to move mountains. Cross oceans. I thought it was meant to be big, and loud, and exaggerated.

“What I didn’t know is that it could be — quiet. It could be this. It could be: my heart squeezing every time you’re around, squeezing until it almost hurts, my breath seizing when you meet my gaze, like I’d never known a breath before that moment. It could be the subtle twitch of my fingers when you’re near me and I crave your touch, or the shiver that runs down my spine when your breath tickles my ear. It could be the knot that ties up my throat when I think about leaving you, it could be the feeling of loneliness and wonderment — like I’ve never encountered, after being alive for so long. I’ve never — I’ve never felt anything like it before, Isak. Nothing comes close to it. Nothing at all.

“And there are people, I’m sure dozens, fighting for my heart for different reasons, trying to take it from me — but to you; I’d give it to you, willingly. I’d hand it over, and ask for nothing in return. It’s yours, it’ll always be yours. And I chose that. I _chose_ that. And I would choose you, over and over and over again, across the wall, across the universe, across every world, I’d choose you. And nothing can take that away from me: not fate, not destiny. And no matter where I found myself, Isak, I would find you. My _heart_ would find you. And I just wanted you to know — at least once — that you can have it.” Even looks away, thoughtfully, sadly. 

“I know you believe everything in life is fated,” he says quietly, looking down at his hands, and Isak wants to burst where he sits. “But if you could just make the choice, I wonder if you’d choose me, too?” 

And Isak— 

Isak is very much a squirrel right now, oh God.

He wishes he could say something, _anything_ , to let Even know he does, he will, whatever he wants — if choices are real, if they’re being allowed to him now, Even is what he chooses. Even is always what he’ll choose.

Even wipes at his face. “This was dumb,” he sighs, and for the first time, he sounds a little irritated. “You don’t know what I’m saying — you’re probably no more in love with me than you are with that nut at the moment.”

Isak had forgotten about the nut. A good sign, he thinks.

“I know Emma is your endgame. Whether or not you love her right now. I only hope you’ll be happy,” Even lets his head rest against the carriage, looks up. “I think I could live peacefully anywhere, knowing you’re happy.”

Isak thinks he could, too, because Even is selfless like that. He thinks Even would live with the heartbreak of it all, if Isak asked him to.

(But Isak would never ask him to.)

He’s so in love with this man he feels ready to combust with it.

Now if only he could _tell him_.

Even’s eyes are closed now. “If you knew what I just did, I think you’d call it brave,” he sighs. “I don’t know how you can see so much of that in me, but — I do love that about you.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Much like everything else.”

Isak wants to melt into that smile. 

But all he can do for now, all he is allowed to do for now, is wait. Wait, and focus on the cadence of Even’s tone and repeat his words to himself over and over: and remember.

\--

Isak doesn’t know for how long they ride — it can’t be for too long, because Even doesn’t look too disheveled when the carriage comes to a stop, despite resting his eyes for most of the ride. It’s a muddy process, getting out of the carriage, because he keeps repeating Even’s words to himself over and over so as to not forget them, no matter what happens, but he is vaguely aware of the witch scooping him up once again and carrying him out of the carriage, and Even snarking something at her that she, of course, does not react to.

“There’s an inn to the east of ya,” The witch tells him, as she lowers him back to the ground. “I already got you a room. You’ll probably need a nap after this. Shapeshifting can be disorienting the first time.”

Isak only realizes the implications of what she’s saying by the time he’s already feeling like clay once more. Suddenly he’s taller, he feels toes on his feet and fingers on his hands, and although he is standing on his own two legs, he feels — he feels—

“ _Isak_ ,” Even calls out with concern, and Isak only realizes he’s doing so because Isak is toppling over before he can truly understand why the ground is suddenly coming up to his eye-level, and Even’s arms are wrapped around his chest, holding him upright. 

He feels like jelly, and he can’t tell if it’s because of the aftereffects of the spell, or because Even is touching him.

“‘M fine,” he lies, eyes fighting to stay open. The witch is already walking back to her carriage. The bird, still in its cage, seems to be staring intently at Isak, which is even more unnerving as a human than it was as a squirrel. “Just need a sec.”

“You need more than one,” Even says, and though he sounds slightly amused, he mostly sounds relieved. He’s so good, Isak thinks. Such a good person, for someone who is technically not a person. Isak is so gone on him.

“I probably need more than one, yes.”

“Come on,” Even helps carry his weight throughout the square, which seems to be bustling with activity. “The inn’s nearby. And I think this one isn’t fake-run by a witch.”

Isak smiles lazily. “You’re cute when you’re funny.”

He sees Even blush. “You’re very out of it.”

“Yes.”

Even leads him the rest of the way to the inn, and Isak really can’t remember most of the walk there, or the walk to the room, or much of anything other than the words Even had said to him in the carriage — after repeating them to himself so often, they’re playing like a broken record in Isak’s brain — and the softness of the bed that’s suddenly beneath him.

He closes his eyes.

\--

When he comes to, his first instinct is to reach over and find Even.

He doesn’t, but it takes him a moment to figure out why he doesn’t, and where he is, and what has happened.

For about ten seconds of consciousness, nothing has changed, but then the ten seconds are over and he _remembers_.

He scrambles to sit up on the bed, then takes a second to settle down, blood rushing quickly to his head and dizzying his sight. Isak exhales heavily and looks around — the room is quaint but nice, with only one bed available to them, and it seems there are personal baths attached to it, if the door that is decidedly not the closet door is anything to go by. It’s more of an inn than he has back in his hometown, in any case, and better than the inn run by a heart-hungry witch. Though the theme of the room seems to be _red_ , and isn’t that just a lot of it?

He shakes his head slowly. Focuses. He needs to find Even. He needs to tell him — he needs to tell him—

Even walks out of the door Isak was just predicting to be the door to the baths, and it seems that he was right: Even’s hair is damp and he looks freshly bathed, a towel wrapped around his neck. His clothes are some comfortable night clothes the girls had gotten for them before they’d left, and there are some dark circles under his eyes, like the exhaustion of this entire adventure has only just caught up to him. He looks up, meets Isak’s gaze, and his expression immediately softens — it does insane things to Isak’s heart, that he both appreciates and doesn’t.

“You’re awake,” he says, smiling. “I was worried for a second there. You’ve been knocked out cold for hours.”

Isak looks out the window. The sun has seemingly set outside — slept through the day, then. He huffs, swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands slowly, making sure his footing is right. Even steps forward as if to help, but he realizes about as soon as Isak does that he can, in fact, walk, so he stops where he is, looking relieved. “I thought this would be a bigger thing, you know. Finding out how to turn you back. I don’t know how much you remember, but she — turned you into a squirrel, for some strange reason, talking about being cursed, and I don’t know what her curse was, but I have a feeling it had to do with _me_ ,” he continues to talk, unaware that Isak is moving towards him. “Because she couldn’t see me or hear me, Isak. I couldn’t even _touch_ her. I mean, good, right? She probably would have wanted my heart, if she’d known what I was. But still _strange_. I can’t imagine a curse that just doesn’t let someone see me? Unless — well, that doesn’t matter,” he still babbles on, and Isak is nearly to him. “You were really into a nut, at one point. You might still crave some? I hope there aren’t any residual effects, actually. I don’t know much about shapeshifting magic, but I also have a feeling we might have seen some with Sonja. You know how the man who was her “father” seemed to _gallop_ around everywhere? I was thinking—”

Even stops abruptly when Isak reaches him, close enough so that their toes touch. He blinks at Isak, as if adjusting to their proximity, before a blush overtakes his face. “Uh, what—”

“I would,” Isak blurts, and Even blinks a bit more at him.

“Would — what?”

Isak exhales shakily. “If I had the choice. I’d choose you.” Even’s face begins to clear of confusion. “I do choose you. I _already_ chose you.”

Though it’s clear of puzzlement, Even’s expression is now mortified — there’s no other word for it, really. “You — you _heard_ me?” His voice is hoarse. “But you — the nut!”

“In my defense, that was my attempt at letting you know I _could_ understand you, but then it got distracting,” he admits nervously. “My hands were so little but so _strong_ , I was cracking that nut like it was nobody’s business.”

“Oh,” Even’s face is white as a sheet. “Oh, I’m so stupid.”

“No!” Isak shakes his head, takes Even’s hands in his. “No, not stupid. Brilliant. Sweet. Romantic. I’d never — I’ve never in my life thought I’d be in the receiving end of such — such beautiful sentiments, and not once did I ever think I’d find myself in the lucky position of wanting to return them,” he promises. “Knowing all you feel — everything you told me — I feel it, too. And — and I don’t care about Emma, I don’t, I don’t care about anything so long as — so long as I have this,” he brings Even’s hands to his chest. “So long as I have you.”

Even’s expression is a mix between hopeful and concerned, like he’s not sure that he _should_ feel hopeful, and Isak doesn’t know how else to express just how _reciprocated_ Even’s feelings are. Just how much he, too, loves him.

So he does the only thing that makes any sense for him to do from this point forward: he tangles his hands in Even’s hair, and brings him forth for a kiss.

Kisses, to Isak, had almost always been an abstract sort of thing: it’s not that he hasn’t thought about them, but they’ve never been something he’s _craved_. At least not with anyone before Even.

Now, though, _now_. 

He understands. He understands why people would crave this closeness, would crave the taste of another. He understands when Even starts reciprocating, slowly, deeply, like they’re each other’s only source of oxygen. The closeness of it all, the intimacy. People have told him about how kisses feel, the way they make you feel, but no one’s ever taught him about the absolute _trust_ one pours into a kiss. Open mouth, open heart, you are at your most vulnerable, and you’re allowing another to feel what you’re feeling, inviting their feelings into yours, and you don’t need to say anything.

Kissing, Isak figures out in a short amount of time, is about trust and cues, knowing when one needs to take a breath, when to pull back in; it’s about being close to one another, as close as they can possibly be. In fact, he feels nothing but Even: it’s only Even, and the entire universe fits inside the love he has for the man, and if the entire universe is made up of only the two of them, then they are both the most important people and the least. They are everything. 

He feels everything.

They pull apart after what seems like years, and Even’s shine illuminates the room like it’s broad daylight, but Isak can’t bring himself to care. They’re smiling stupidly at each other, and Even brings a hand to caress the side of Isak’s face. He leans into the touch, an electric current sparking against his skin.

“I thought—” Even shakes his head, laughs breathily. “It doesn’t matter. I — I love you.”

Isak nods, presses his lips against Even’s once more. “I love you, too,” he breathes into his mouth. “I love you, and I chose you.”

Even looks surprised and bashful for only a moment, before his laugh is huffed gleefully and loudly this time. And he repeats after Isak: “I love you, and I chose you.”

And they kiss and they kiss and they kiss, as if nothing could possibly get in the way of this moment, of their happiness, and they map each other’s bodies like they are the charts, the constellations, and for as long as Even’s lips are attached to his skin, Isak feels anything but insignificant.


	9. day eight

If Isak’s life were simpler, the story would end there.

As it were, Isak’s life is, in fact, not that simple, and so the next morning he wakes up to a sleeping Even and he feels his heart grow twice its size in his chest.

Even’s sleeping soundly still, and Isak doesn’t resist the urge to run his hand through his hair softly, letting his fingers tangle in it. He’s absolutely beautiful, Isak thinks, and he loves him, he loves him.

Even shifts slightly before his eyes flutter open and meet Isak’s. His smile is quick and blinding, and Isak returns it with a wide one of his own.

“Morning,” Isak mutters.

Even is shining brighter than the sunlight coming in through the window. “Good morning,” he mutters in return, and then he leans forward to press his lips to Isak’s.

Isak doesn’t think it won’t ever feel like the first time. His hand travels to the back of Even’s neck and his fingers play with the hair at the nape as their lips move in synchronization.

When they pull apart, Isak nuzzles Even’s nose, and Even brings his hand up to stroke the side of Isak’s face softly. “I did not know sex would feel that good.”

Isak bursts out laughing. “Oh my God,” he groans, dropping his forehead on Even’s shoulder. “Stop.”

“I’m serious!” Even laughs, his hand moving from Isak’s cheek to wrap around his waist and pull him closer. It begins to stroke Isak’s back as Isak’s face remains hidden. “I saw people do so many more seemingly fun things, that sex did not make any sense to me as a pastime of choice but _that_ — I understand it now.”

Isak’s shoulders shake as he snorts into Even’s skin.

Even presses a kiss to Isak’s hair. “I love this,” he mutters, voice quieter, far more sincere. “I love you.”

Isak’s breath hitches, because no matter how many times he hears that, he doesn’t think he’ll get used to it. He pulls back from where his face was hidden and kisses Even again, desperately, so as to not lose him, not let him slip away.

This is the kind of love the world had promised him. The kind of love he could never find in Emma. This is the kind of love he could absolutely move mountains for. The kind of love he would turn into a flower in a tree for.

When he pulls back, Even chases his lips again, brings him back for another kiss. Isak laughs against them, groans quietly. “Even,” he mutters. “We need to go.”

“Nope,” Even mutters in reply, turning Isak over on his back to straddle his lap. He starts peppering kisses down Isak’s jaw. “I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

Isak groans at the sensation. “Even,” he sighs, closing his eyes and allowing himself to get wrapped up in the moment for only a second. “I still want to go back to my hometown. If not to cut things formally off with Emma, then at _least_ to introduce you to my dad.”

Even leans back, raises a surprised eyebrow at him. “You want me to meet your father?” He pauses. “Do you think — would he even know what to do with me?”

Isak laughs. “What are you talking about?” He runs a hand through Even’s hair. “You already know he’s been to Stormhold before. He knows about the, ah, fantastical stuff that happens around here. A sentient star? Probably not all that foreign of a concept to him.”

He could be wrong. He probably is. But Even doesn’t need to worry — his father has expressed time and time again that all he’s ever wanted is Isak’s happiness. It took him a long time to realize he _meant_ it — and that if he’s happy, his father is happy, and that’s all that matters to Isak, in the end. 

Maybe Oslo is simply too small for the two of them. Stormhold could be a wonderful new home. Maybe they could both look for his mother. Maybe they could both have their happy ending.

Even hums thoughtfully, bringing a hand up to rest over Isak’s as it slides to the side of his face. “You want to — formally end things with Emma?”

Isak sighs. He thinks carefully about his next words: he doesn’t want to give Even the wrong idea, though he hopes by now the wrong idea is impossible to arrive at, considering everything they said to each other the night before. So he says: “I haven’t always been the kindest to her” because it’s the truth, then continues. “Actually, I don’t think I have _ever_ been. My contempt for her — I don’t think it’s ever been a secret. And I don’t think — she’s not the _nicest_ person, to be fair, but she wasn’t raised to be nice, she was raised — well, wealthy. And my hometown is — well, you know. Reputation and status is a big thing, and she — wasn’t taught anything different. I think she wanted me, and she’s so used to having everything she wants, so she’s felt entitled to me. And I — I didn’t do much to dissuade her. Other than — you know, not really be interested in her. I still accepted this strange courtship. I still strung her along, promised her an engagement. And that wasn’t — I shouldn’t have. I should have been forthright with her. Maybe that would have — I don’t know. Whatever happens — well, we already missed her birthday, so she’s probably moved on already, but maybe this could have all been avoided if I’d just — said no to her in the first place, you know?

“So I think I owe her this much. A clean break. Maybe a part of you, but not all of you.” He smiles, strokes Even’s cheek with his thumb. “That’s mine.”

Even is looking at him in wonder, before leaning back down and pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “Your heart is kind,” he brings his hand to Isak’s chest, as if to make sure his heart is still there. “I’m proud of you. I am. I want you to know that.”

Isak blinks. “It sounds like there’s a _but_.”

Even smiles sheepishly. “I don’t know much about this feeling, but — I think I might be jealous?”

Isak laughs. “Of _what_?”

“Her!” Even slips out of Isak’s lap, sits beside him. Isak sits up, reaches out to stroke Even’s arm comfortingly as he speaks. “I know it’s irrational. I know you don’t want her. I know you don’t love her. I know you’re going to go and end things with her, formally. But she — I don’t know. She’s _human_ , isn’t she? She can lead a normal life, and could probably have offered you one. Back home.”

Isak furrows his brows. “I don’t know if I’d _want_ a life like that. And I’m not even sure if that’s home anymore. It’s — time feels — distorted here, doesn’t it? Not for you, maybe, but it’s certainly felt longer to me than what it’s been, really, and it hasn’t once — don’t get me wrong, I miss my dad, but the place itself? I feel more dread for it than I feel anything else. It’s a place, you know? It’s a place. And for so long, I think I tethered my happiness, and my father’s, to that place. But it’s a place, and happiness can follow you anywhere, I think. I don’t know,” he grins. “I’m pretty new to the feeling. But something tells me — doesn’t matter where I end up. As long as I’m with you.”

Even’s eyes are shining, and so, frankly, is the rest of him, and Isak can’t help but chuckle. “You can’t come with me like this.”

Even gapes. “Why not? After all of that?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “You’re shining way too much, Even. People will pick you out of a crowd immediately.”

Even bites his lip, and this time, when Isak has the irrational urge to reach over and kiss, he doesn’t resist.

They waste a bit more time this way until Even pulls away and sighs loudly, laughing in the midst of it. “You’re not _helping_.”

“I’m not _trying_ to,” Isak grins smugly, nuzzling Even’s nose. “The only way we’ll get you settled down is if you take a moment to yourself.”

Even frowns. “You’re leaving?”

Isak hums, places a kiss to the tip of Even’s nose. “Just to do the hard part. The Emma part. I think it’ll give you enough time to do the whole — controlling your breathing thing you learned. Then you can just catch up with me.”

Even sighs, seemingly disappointed. “I’ll do it,” he agrees. “But I hope you know I kind of only wanted to lie here with you for the rest of the day.”

Isak laughs and kisses him again, stupidly happy. “We’ll have the rest of our lives for that,” he promises, and Even seems to like that answer, if his shine is anything to go by. Isak laughs even louder, shakes his head. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

He reaches over to the end table, grabs at the handkerchief that had been settled inside his coat pocket but now rests outside of it. He hands it over to Even, who takes it, though looks puzzled as to why it’s being offered to him in the first place.

“Bring it back to me,” he says. “When you find me. It’ll at least give you a piece of me to hang onto, for the time we’re apart.”

Even’s expression softens and he laughs, shaking his head. “You are—” he shakes his head. “I know this is an attempt at placating my pouting.”

Isak grins. “You’re not wrong,” he teases. “But I will need yours in return.”

Even reaches over the bed and onto the floor, rustling through his coat. He hands Isak his own, and Isak grabs the dagger he’d kept under the pillow out of precaution and reaches over to slice a small piece of Even’s hair gently. Even, trusting as ever, doesn’t even flinch as it happens: simply watches Isak place the lock of his hair into the handkerchief and fold it tenderly.

“There,” he says. “Proof you were with me. That you shine brighter than anything Emma will ever lay her eyes on.”

Even embraces Isak. “Be careful,” he mutters into his shoulder as he presses a soft kiss to the skin there. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

Isak squeezes Even back. “I believe you.”

\--

The trek towards the wall is — both uneventful and not.

Isak takes in the sights he was unable to yesterday, considering the state of him. It’s so — lively. He remembers what his father told him about this town, and he thought his father, for all intents and purposes, did a great job at describing it, but it’s an entirely different thing to live it.

Don’t get him wrong: the towns and cities and ports he’s seen thus far have all been as fantastical and busy, but here, it feels different, somehow. Magic seems to be more prominent here, more out in the open. He sees several people and creatures apparating from one point to another, people’s hair color disappearing completely, he hears languages he’s never heard before, the smell of the air is of firewood and winter, despite the fact that it is, as far as Isak remembers, nearer to fall. It’s all so new and fascinating, and although no one bothers him the entire way to the border, it still somehow feels like so much has happened.

As he approaches the wall, the town begins to falter. There’s less and less buildings, more outlying structures. There’s an open field, and although he sees one or two riders around, both going the opposite direction, the hustle and bustle he’s been walking through is slowly dwindling. The wall gets larger as he approaches it, the view of it from this side far nicer than the other. The border isn’t guarded by anyone — there’s a sign placed against the wall, right beside the adorned opening Isak eventually reaches, that reads: **NORWAY**. Underneath it, there’s writing in a strange language that Isak doesn’t understand. So, naturally, he ignores it.

He smiles, looks back. In the distance, he can only barely make out the outline of the busy town. He’s coming back, he tells himself. It doesn’t end here.

With a deep breath, he steps across the wall.

Nothing changes. It’s very anticlimactic, all things considered. 

The wall keeper, who’s been humming up until now, glances upward, nods at Isak, then goes back to cutting through an apple.

Then he does a double-take.

“What the—” He scowls. “ _You._ How did you—”

Isak holds up a hand. “I’ve been there a while,” he says, as he continues to walk back to town. “Someone else should be coming through soon! Be nice to him. Send him my way.”

“How did you get _past me_ —”

“Not everything is about you, old man!” Isak calls back, and continues on.

Seeing the sights of Oslo once again is a little — strange, to be honest. Everything is quiet. Normal. Nothing has changed, he realizes, and of course it hasn’t. It hasn’t been too long, has it? Isak realizes that every day in Oslo has always been the same. They hardly ever stray from their routine, and it’s — it used to not bother him, not really, it’s something one becomes accustomed to after years of living this way, but his time spent in Stormhold, beyond the wall, meeting the people that he did? He doesn’t exactly want to live being chased every second of the day, mind you, but he wouldn’t mind the magic. The light. The smell of firewood, the liveliness. 

Isak’s never believed in magic before, but now that he knows of its existence, now that he knows it’s more than just the color of your hair or the memories from before you were three — that it can also be a pirate crew who cares enough to feed and dress you, a sentient star that shows you how honest and pure a love can be? He doesn’t think he can go back to a life without it.

He’s only half-aware he’s returned with brand new clothes and a sword attached to him, but it seems the people around him are entirely aware. The stares, this time, are less judgmental than they usually are and more puzzled, but Isak finds it an easy feat to ignore them completely, and walk where he must.

Emma’s home is ostentatious and, Isak has always believed, inconveniently placed. It’s large and in the middle of the town, where anyone can walk past and be reminded that they are not and probably will never be as successful as the Larzen family, who happened to become wealthy out of pure luck, from what Isak understands. Still, this time, he’s less annoyed and more thankful it’s not too out of the way, and he’s ready to walk up and call for Emma when he realizes she’s already sitting on the front porch, arms crossed over her chest, staring directly at Isak.

Isak sighs.

He walks towards her. “I’m late,” he says, and Emma snorts.

“Yes,” she nods. “That you are.”

“Have you accepted Mikael’s hand in marriage yet?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I don’t even know him, Isak,” she snaps. “Of course I haven’t.”

Isak frowns. “So it was—”

“An empty threat, yes,” she shakes her head, looks to her left. “I’m surprised you even ventured to look for the star in the first place.”

Isak wonders if he should admit he didn’t technically. Not really. He’d meant to look for his mother, but the star sort of got in the way. Not that he’s not grateful for that, obviously. But, still.

“Emma—”

“You’re here to tell me you won’t marry me.”

Isak looks at his feet, slightly in shame. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long silence. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s not tense. It’s just silence.

“I knew,” she finally says, and her voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “I knew you wouldn’t. I saw the signs. The way you avoided me. I knew you’d never love me, but I thought maybe if I — persisted.”

Isak smiles ruefully. “You did do that well.”

Emma huffs. “I’m not used to being told no, Isak,” she snaps. “Forgive me if that sounds _bratty_ , but it’s not something I have a lot of experience with.”

Isak walks up the front porch steps slowly, sits beside Emma on the bench. They don’t look at each other — Emma scoots further away from him, even, for once allowing Isak the space he’s so desperately been looking for. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think I’ll ever love a woman.”

Emma glances at him, confused for a second, before her face clears. “Oh,” she says, then pauses. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

Emma sighs loudly. “Just as well,” she sniffs, though there’s a twitch of a smile on her lips. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle me in marriage. I require far more attention than you’d be willing to give.”

Isak huffs a laugh. “You’re probably right.”

Emma finally meets his gaze head-on. “I’ll tell people it was mutual.”

Isak raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“I won’t — I won’t blame you,” she shakes her head. “I know what people say about you. I know it’s all stupid, and baseless. When you think I’m not looking, Isak, you are a kind person. You were willing to sacrifice your happiness for your father’s place in this town, and so, I will make sure your reputation upholds.”

Isak doesn’t think he — well, he never thought he’d see a side of Emma that was — considerate, or kind. He thinks of the Emma he spoke to a week ago, self-centered, demanding, and he wonders if this could be the same one. Perhaps, Isak reasons, they’d both needed this time for themselves. Or maybe — maybe Isak refused to see another side to her, clouded by his early resentment. 

Either way.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Isak reaches into his pocket and hands Emma the folded handkerchief. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what a star actually looks like,” he admits to her. “But here’s a part of it, as a parting gift.”

Emma’s expression brightens as she takes the handkerchief gingerly in her hands. Isak doesn’t know how he’ll explain _hair_ , or Even, for that matter — he’s so much larger than life, there’s not enough room in the world to explain him — but it turns out not to matter when Emma frowns and says: “Dust.”

Isak blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Stardust,” Emma clarifies, holding up the handkerchief towards Isak. 

Isak furrows his brows. “What are you—”

That’s when he realizes what just fell out of the handkerchief.

Dust.

What had previously been a lock of Even’s hair is now nothing but dark powder decorating the cement beneath them, and it takes a second for Isak to make the correlation between what had been a part of Even, and what was now a part of the ground, in this world.

A world without magic.

A world where fallen stars were not people-stars.

A world where Even would turn into stardust, if he crossed.

“Oh, fuck,” Isak breathes, and before he can form another thought, he stands. “I have to — sorry, Emma, I have to—”

“Isak, are you okay—”

Before she can finish the sentiment, Isak runs.

\--

His heart is racing a million miles a minute, terrified he’ll be too late.

_Don’t cross, don’t cross, don’t cross_ , he begs, and he knows Even can’t hear him, but it — it — he hopes. He hopes.

When he reaches the wall, he’s relieved for a second — there doesn’t seem to be anything out of sorts — until he realizes that, beyond, across the threshold, sits the wall keeper, staring at something on the ground.

Isak runs past the wall, looks at what the wall keeper is staring at and it’s—

It’s the witch. The witch with the yellow carriage that had given passage to Isak. Her horse is standing besides her body, none the wiser, nibbling at some grass. She, on the other hand, is on the ground, unmoving, eyes wide open, petrified.

Dead.

“What happened?” Isak asks the wall keeper, but he gets no response. Isak inspects the scene again, and that’s when he notices something he hadn’t noticed before — his own blue handkerchief, the one he’d left with Even before he crossed the wall. It’s unmistakably his, and suddenly his entire stomach falls to the ground, heart turning hollow.

He turns back to the wall keeper and grabs a hold of his shoulders. “ _What happened_?” He demands once again, and this time he makes sure his voice is angry, desperate. 

“A — a witch,” the wall keeper hisses. “A witch killed this woman and — and took a young man and a beautiful woman captive.” A young man and a beautiful woman. Even and — who else? Who was Even _with_? “They left in a carriage. It was yellow.”

Isak knows the carriage, yes. “Oh, God,” he lets go of the wall keeper and turns back to the ground, kneeling quickly to grab at his handkerchief and before he can take off once again, he notices a small object peeking out from between some grass blades.

The Snowdrop.

Isak, only slightly uncomfortable reaching over the witch’s dead body, picks the glass flower up and pockets it once again. It’s his. It’s his, and somehow, it came back to him.

And somehow — somehow, he feels Even. He can still _feel_ him. It doesn’t make any logical sense, not really, but Isak knows he’s alive. He’s alive.

Isak just doesn’t know how much longer he’ll stay that way.

Without a second thought, Isak mounts the horse. “What way did they go?” he asks, and the wall keeper points east. Not towards the town; somewhere further down the border. If Isak’s lucky, the tracks will be fresh.

He clicks his heels against the horse’s torso, and they run.

\--

Isak is frantic, but not frantic enough so that he loses what he’s looking for. He tracks the carriage for miles against the wall, doing his best to keep up the pace, leaning forward in hopes the speed picks up impossibly.

The trail stops when he reaches what looks like the ruins of what once was a castle, or something of the sort, and Isak is quick to spot a yellow carriage outside of it, toppled over, broken. Isak’s heart stops for a second when he notices someone attempting to climb out of the rubble, and though he knows, he knows it couldn’t possibly be Even left to die there, he still runs forward in an effort to help, to understand.

He reaches out and begins removing wood from atop this person, as quickly as he can, and he hears a breath hitch beneath him. He meets the eyes of a beautiful woman, small in figure, blonde hair long and eyes an emerald green. She looks a little older in years, eyes a little sad, maybe, and at the moment scraped and bruised like it’s nobody’s business, but she’s alive and well and looking up at Isak with a mixture of gratitude and worry.

Isak offers her a hand. She takes it. “I’m looking for—”

“Your friend, I know,” she interrupts, nodding her head as Isak helps her up. She brushes dust off herself, picks some splinters out of her hair. “That witch — she took him inside.”

Isak looks over at the ruins behind him and intends to run straight inside, but the woman reaches out and grabs at his arm, stopping him. Isak looks back at her, confused and annoyed. “I have to—”

“Rushing in there will just assure your death,” she says. “You need to be a little more prepared than that.”

“Ironically enough, I don’t have time to be prepared,” he snaps. “I have to — she’ll—”

“I know,” the woman says, kindly. “He’s a star. She wants his heart. She cursed my mistress, days ago, to keep him hidden from her. I saw him, though. With you, yesterday. In the cart.”

Isak furrows his brows. “You were—” He pauses, realization dawning on him. “The bird.”

The woman nods. “That, too, was a curse,” she explains. “But now my mistress is dead. I don’t think the witch realized I was in the carriage, before she took it for herself. She destroyed the carriage after taking your friend, ignoring my presence completely.”

“I have to—”

“The ritual takes time,” she promises. “You have it.”

The thing is, Isak doesn’t feel like that _matters_. All he wants right now, all he _needs_ , is for Even to be safe. To be out of the clutches of Sonja and her weird obsession with his heart and living forever. Isak remembers the way he’d reacted at the idea of Sonja being the one to take his heart, so forcefully, for selfish reasons. The way he’d shut down that night at the inn, completely lost in his fear, and Isak can’t imagine the fear that must be coursing through his veins now, thinking he’s alone, thinking Isak doesn’t know he’s here.

“Your flower,” The woman says suddenly, and Isak is brought back to the present. He looks down at the Snowdrop in his chest pocket, back where it belongs, if a little more askew than it’d been before, hastily dropped in there, as it were. “Your friend said it was your mother’s.”

“She gave it to my father,” he explains. “And my father to me.”

The woman’s eyes begin to well with tears, and Isak is suddenly extremely uncomfortable, unsure of what to do when faced with a woman crying. He looks back at the ruins, then back at the woman, shifts his weight nervously. “Uh—”

“Oh,” she wipes at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just — I—” she reaches out and lays a hand on Isak’s chest, over his heart. Isak is too stunned by this woman’s boldness to react. “I gave that to your father. There’s no other like it in the world.”

It takes a moment for Isak to make the correlation on his own, but when he does—

Well. He understands why this woman is crying now, if nothing else.

“I—” he swallows harshly. “Mom?”

The woman — his _mother_ — nods and laughs wetly, bringing Isak in for an embrace. It takes Isak a second, but he’s returning the embrace before he knows it, unsure where this feeling of — of relief, of happiness, fits with his worry, with his fear.

“I want to ask you so many things, but—”

“Your friend, yes,” his mother pulls back, wiping at her tears a little more determinedly this time. “You’ll need a distraction. I’ll be that.”

“No,” Isak replies quickly. “Absolutely not.”

His mother smiles wryly at him. “I’m afraid you don’t get to tell me what to do, Isak.”

Isak. His mother — she knows his name, and of course she knows his name, she _gave_ him his name. In that moment, he almost agrees to her terms, if only because she’s found a way past his concerns, except that before he agrees out of sheer desperation, he feels something pointed and sharp pressing against his back.

His mother looks over his shoulder, eyes wide and furious, but she doesn’t move. Isak holds both of his hands up and turns slowly, to encounter a tall, slender man with hair slicked back and what one would probably call a royal nose around these parts, or something. His eyes are dark and calculating, and they’re taking Isak’s form in as if sizing him up for what might become a fight he does not have time for.

“Who are you, and what do you want with my amulet?”

Right. This must be Christoffer’s brother, then. What was his name? It’s been so long, Isak can’t keep the stories he’s been told straight.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m not here for an amulet. I’m here for the man who has it.”

William — that’s his name, Isak recalls now — makes a face. “And what’s so special about him, that he finds himself kidnapped by this crazy witch?”

He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to be honest here. He lowers his hands, and William allows him to, most likely assuming he’s not a threat, after all. His mistake, really, as Isak reaches quickly into the small sheath attached to his belt and he finds the dagger Chris had gifted him with, and presses it against William’s sword-holding forearm threateningly. William looks down at it, looking both offended and surprised, then looks back at Isak, who raises an eyebrow at him. “He is special to me, and nothing else. He found your amulet by mistake. We don’t want it. You want the amulet; I want him. We could help each other out, here.”

William narrows his eyes in contemplation, once again sizing Isak up, this time with an air of caution about him. He glances over at the castle ruins, then finally disarms, folding his sword back into his sheath and stepping back. Isak does the same with his dagger. 

“I don’t need your help,” William smirks. “I will get both your man and my amulet out in a minute. Don’t get in my way, boy.”

Isak and his mother exchange an incredulous glance. “Right.”

William unsheathes his sword once again, and with a battle cry, runs straight inside what’s left of this castle.

Isak and his mother scramble towards the windows of this place, somehow still up, and peek as William runs towards a grand staircase, smack in the middle of the entrance. Isak follows his line of vision and finds Sonja standing at the top of the stairs, eyes closed and figure hovering. His heart racing, Isak looks around for a sign of Even, and he doesn’t have to look for too long — Even is right beneath Sonja, strapped to a wooden table, struggling against his restraints. The sight itself almost sends Isak running to him, but his mother holds on to him once more, and shakes her head once. Give it a second, her gaze says, and Isak worries he might not _have_ a second.

“Witch!” They hear William cry inside. Sonja doesn’t open her eyes. “I am here to slay you, for that man’s freedom, for the freedom of my amulet, and for the throne of Stormhold! I shall be the last male heir of—”

William is dead, like, immediately.

Isak flinches at the sight of blue blood pouring out of his throat. Sonja didn’t seem to lift a single finger, and yet William’s death looks unnecessarily and brutally painful. He looks at his mother, who looks — slightly sad, if Isak is being honest, but more so unsurprised by the turn of events. She meets Isak’s gaze.

“Her concentration’s been shot,” she says, and Isak blinks at her, glances at Sonja, who looks unperturbed, then back at his mother.

“ _Has_ it, though?”

His mother smiles. “Magic works in mysterious ways,” she assures Isak. “This is your chance. Go. _Go_.”

Isak makes to leave.

“Be careful.”

He looks at his mother — as beautiful as his father described her in her youth, if not more so — and decides, right then and there, to try his best. 

“If I don’t come back—” he swallows with difficulty. “Will you tell my dad — will you—”

“I will,” she promises quietly, eyes shining.

Isak nods. “Thank you.”

And then he runs inside. 

The sight of Sonja hovering in the air, eyes closed, muttering under her breath — it’s a lot more impactful up close, he’ll say that much.

This is when he realizes a plan might have been beneficial, maybe. He has no idea what to do here. He has no idea how to get Even out safely. What he does know, though — he does know Even doesn’t deserve to think he’s alone in this. That there’s no hope. 

“ _Even_ ,” he shouts, and Even stops struggling against his restraints, looks over to where Isak is at the bottom of the staircase. Dim before, he begins to shine a bit more when their gazes meet, and Isak’s heart squeezes in contentment. 

“Isak,” he shouts back, smiling, then his smile fades, and he looks worried. “ _Isak_. What are you doing here?”

“What — what does it _look_ like I’m doing here, I’m rescuing you!”

“No, you — you have to go, you — she killed—”

“Yeah, I saw,” he nods over at William’s dead body, lying contorted beside him. “She offed Douche Prince Number Two over here.”

“She’ll — Isak, you have to—”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” his voice is clear and determined and honest. He’s leaving this place with Even in tow, or he’s not leaving it at all.

“You can’t—”

“Oh, would you two _shut up_ ,” Sonja snaps, interrupting a conversation that, frankly, had gone on far longer than Isak thought it would have. “I’m trying to _concentrate_ here, I can’t hear myself think.”

Isak unsheathes his sword. “Sonja,” he says carefully. “Let him go.”

Sonja sighs irritably and opens her eyes to meet Isak’s gaze. The color of them have turned a deep unnatural purple, a stark contrast from the natural green they’d been before. “Oh, sure,” she waves her hand. “Right away, let me just get on that.”

Isak ignores her obviously pointed (and, frankly, a little hurtful) sarcasm. “Anyone ever teach you about consent?”

Sonja sighs loudly. “Gods,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re truly a prickly thing, aren’t you? You could leave,” she tells him. “You could leave right now, and nothing will happen to you. Go on, I’m giving you a chance.”

Even looks at Isak, eyes wide and sad. “Isak,” he says. “Please. Go.”

Isak thinks of his father, of his newly-found mother. Of his friends — pirates floating up in the air as they speak, the boys that have been with him through thick and thin since childhood back in Oslo. Of his life outside of this, outside of Even. He thinks: I _could_ leave. Sonja is giving him the chance, and Even is offering him an out, free of guilt and obligation. And were it any other time before Even, were this the Isak Even had met over a week ago — a pessimistic shell of a man, bound by obligation he’d given to himself, a man who didn’t believe love was possible, that love at first sight was a tall tale told to children — if it were _that_ Isak deciding, he’d have been gone long ago.

As it were, it’s _not_ him. This Isak has seen a different world. He’s seen a smile that can illuminate the night sky, that _has_ , most likely. He’s looked into the eyes of a beautiful man who’s seen everything and more, and has still decided Isak is the one thing he wants to keep, wants to love. This Isak has learned that fate and choice and love — they may all as well be frivolous concepts when warped by time, and time is all he wants. And if what it takes to fight for time with Even is _staying_ , then.

Isak shakes his head once, sword still held in a fighting stance. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sonja rolls her eyes. “Have it your way,” she says, voice light and careless, as she flicks her wrist somewhere near Isak.

Isak hears the creaking of steel to the right of him, an uncomfortable sound that distresses his ears. He flinches and turns to find the source of the noise, and almost steps back when he realizes it’s a _knight_.

But not a knight. It’s a knight’s _armor_ , the person who’d inhabited it long since gone, and it’s sentient now, reaching for the weapon still attached to it. Isak turns to look back at Sonja, who’s gone back to muttering under her breath, eyes closed, demeanor calm. And Isak knows, he _knows_ this is simply a distraction, Sonja hoping to keep Isak busy long enough to finish what she needs to, so he’s trying to figure out a way to simply run up the steps and free Even when the armor stretches forward and attempts a swipe at him.

Isak stumbles back with a surprised grunt, narrows his eyes. He widens his stance, straightens his posture. “Alright, you stupid piece of scrap metal,” he huffs. “Out of my way.”

The knight — armor — knight-armor-thing spins and tries for a leg sweep, which Isak sees coming from a mile away and easily avoids, jumping out of the way swiftly. He swings his sword straight across the armor’s throat as his feet land on the ground again, striking mostly out of instinct.

The thing about an armor, it turns out, is that when it doesn’t have a body attached to it, there’s not really a whole lot of foundation for gravity, so instead of really _hitting_ anything, the edge of Isak’s sword manages to simply knock the helmet and, consequently, this thing’s head, off, throwing off its balance. Isak watches as the magical knight-armor-thing stumbles in place, swings wildly with its sword, then falls over uselessly, like it’d never been sentient in the first place.

There’s a pause.

“I can’t believe I spent all my energy on that idiot,” Sonja hisses, and when Isak looks over at her, she’s glaring at William’s very dead body. “This could have been over so much sooner.” She turns to look back at Isak, meets his gaze icily. Isak feels it freeze his veins. “Fine, then. What’ll it be?” she asks as her feet find the ground again. She begins walking with grandiosity down the steps and towards Isak, arms outstretched like she’s making an offering. “Hairy toad, or bald rat?”

It takes a moment for Isak to understand what she’s implying, but by the time he does, it’s too late: there’s a visible energy pulsing from her fingertips as she slices her hand through the air and towards Isak. Having no other choice that favors him in time, Isak simply ducks and hopes for the best here, eyes shutting furiously and bracing for impact. He’s felt this warp before. He’ll feel like clay being molded, and his mind will be there but not, and it’s imperative, he tells himself in the remaining seconds he has as a human, that he remembers. He might not be able to do _much_ as a toad or a rat, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try. 

The effort is futile, however, because the impact: it never comes.

Isak slowly peeks from behind his arms, which are currently hovering over his face defensively, to see what the hold up of his impending doom may be, and it turns out to be — nothing.

Quite literally, nothing. The visible energy, a sickly green color, hovers in the air about a foot in front of Isak, but parts in the middle and spares him. The current of it flows furiously, as if it’s attempt to reach Isak is tiring, but it doesn’t once manage to touch him. Isak, more confused than relieved, straightens his posture and watches in awe: magic, so far, has only been used around him fueled by anger and resentment, but not once has he seen so _palpable_ , so _real_. It’s _energy_ , Isak realizes, or a form of it. Not simply something born onto someone, but its own separate entity, gracing someone’s presence. It needs to refuel, and this is when he realizes his mother was right: Sonja used most of this energy on effortlessly slitting William’s throat, and saved the rest for the ritual. It makes sense that a simple transformation spell wouldn’t take a lot out of her, but by the looks of how it’s going, it might be taking more than Sonja thought.

She shouts in frustration and drops her hand, the energy vanishing swiftly with the movement. Her eyes glow — or they at least look like they glow, from this close — and she runs a hand through her hair, as if making sure that there isn’t a single strand out of place. “Alright,” she says, and she bends over to grab the sword the knight-armor-thing had dropped to the ground in an impressively graceful way. “I suppose I’ll just have to do this the old fashioned way, won’t I?”

Isak doesn’t get a chance to respond, because before he knows it, Sonja has stepped forward to attack, chucking the sword forward to strike at his stomach. Isak curves backwards instinctively and then attempts to gain his footing again, hand tightening around the hilt of his own sword and bringing it upward to collide with Sonja in a defensive move.

Sonja sneers. “It’s been a couple of decades since I’ve done this, but I don’t think I’ve quite lost my touch.”

She hasn’t. She slides her sword from Isak’s and turns, going for his throat, and Isak only barely manages to duck and attempt an attack in return. It doesn’t land: Sonja’s quick, and she steps aside, hauling her sword downward with a strength Isak had no idea she could find within herself and colliding with his own sword, which drops in height until the tip hits the floor. The screech of it is disarming, only for a second, before Isak brings it back towards him and raises it upward with a turn of his wrists, an attack Sonja manages to fend off once more with her own sword.

And so they go, in rapid movements of clashing swords — when it looks like one of them will gain the upper hand, the other manages to escape the situation just barely. He can hear, vaguely, the sound of Even struggling from the top of the stairs, presumably attempting to release himself from the restraints, and it’s the only thing propelling Isak forward: knowing that Even is up there, still fighting, and if that requires some — well, several — close calls, then so be it.

It’s nothing like his practice fights with Noora. Noora was a more calculated fighter, he notes. Every move she made was thought-out, with the end goal of victory by disarming. Sonja, on the other hand, fights recklessly and impulsively, which makes it harder to predict her next move every time. Isak relies on pure instinct to get him through some of Sonja’s maneuvers, and even then, they’re always a second away from landing what Noora never did: the killing blow.

The inside of what used to be this castle is large, despite everything — he knows more about its layout now than he did when he first arrived inside. He’s been running into cages filled with mute wild animals, jars that when broken reveal a pink dust that smells of cinnamon but looks like it’s shining, strings and strings of yarn falling from the ceiling of every color that have threatened Isak’s life constantly, with their inconvenient placement. 

He’s sweating, and the swords continue to clash, and Even continues to struggle. Sonja doesn’t look tired at all — she looks about ready to end this, if anything, frustrated by the length of the encounter, but physically tired? She’s probably in better shape than Isak is, and this is about the best shape he’s ever been in.

Somewhere in the middle of the fight, when they’re reached the far end of the east of the castle, Isak’s foot clashes with something slippery on the ground. In his haste to catch his balance, Sonja manages to swiftly hit the helm of his sword with the tip of hers, effectively disarming him. The sword flies through the air behind Sonja, falls noisily atop of one of the cages, making Even yell out to him in concern.

Isak lets himself fall to buy himself some time, quickly grabbing at the dagger strapped to his belt. He takes advantage of Sonja’s momentary confusion to slice at her ankles, straight from one to the other, and as she hisses in pain Isak rolls away from her line of sight and stands up again, holding out the dagger.

“I don’t want to _hurt_ you,” Isak says, and that’s true enough. He hasn’t set out to _kill_ anyone. He doesn’t think he’s capable of it. “Just let him go and we can end this.”

Sonja growls in reply, clumsily moving forward to attempt to slice Isak in half, it appears. Isak moves out of the way to the left of them and manages to slice through Sonja’s dress as a warning, scraping her stomach only barely. 

“I’m serious,” he tries again through gritted teeth. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You don’t know a single thing about what I _have_ to do,” she snaps, turning and slicing her sword horizontally, aiming for Isak’s waist. It manages to scrape through Isak — not as much as it could have, but definitely more than it had been, considering his distance was now far closer since wielding a dagger. “I do what I _want_ , and this?” She tries for another close blow. Isak dodges. “This is what I want.”

A dagger against a sword is a useless fight — at least when it comes to the way Sonja is fighting, which is erratic, angry. There’s no way Isak can get close enough without her getting a serious blow. He’s cornered, he realizes. He’s cornered, and surrounded, and —

He glances down. He’s standing beside one of the many jars they’ve been breaking.

Down to his last resort, Isak reaches into the jar and grabs a handful of the pink, shimmery dust, throws it at Sonja’s face to at least blind her momentarily.

It appears that it does far more than that.

There’s a screech of absolutely _pain_ emanating from the witch’s throat, and she drops the sword in favor of holding both her hands up to scratch at her eyes uselessly. Isak has no idea what he just did to her, only that he doesn’t think he has enough time to figure it out, so he kicks Sonja’s sword as far from them as possible and pushes past her and towards the stairs.

“You’re crazy,” Even says when Isak reaches him. Isak laughs stupidly at the sight of him — he looks — there’s no world in which Even doesn’t look beautiful, of course, but at the moment he looks both beautiful and completely worse for wear. They can simultaneously exist, Isak decides, at least where Even is concerned. “You should have _gone_.”

“Nowhere,” he snaps, starting at Even’s restraints with his dagger. “Nowhere without you, you hear me?”

He’s so close. He’s _so fucking close_ to budging the hard leather of the restraints. He can feel it, if he can just get one off, Even can do the rest—

And that’s when all the air in his body leaves him.

“Isak!” Even shouts, just a second too late, and Isak can’t do anything but drop his dagger and reach towards his neck, where he feels an invisible force _squeeze_.

His body turns of its own accord, and that’s when Isak realizes he’s now hovering halfway in the air, Even shouting something below him. Isak scratches at his throat uselessly, trying to reach for the hands that aren’t there, that are slowly squeezing the last bit of air from him. He gasps and kicks at the air with his feet wildly, trying to ingest even the smallest bit of oxygen.

It doesn’t work.

Sonja is now standing directly below him, eyes an angry red, the rest of her face swollen. If she looked simply frustrated before, she looks absolutely _murderous_ now. Which, Isak supposes, is fitting, considering that killing is what she’s doing at the present moment.

Killing him.

He was so _close_.

“So I’ll wait another fortnight,” she spits, and her voice is amplified by ten now, filling every inch of the large foyer. Isak can hear it, over Even’s pleas, over the distant pounding at the castle doors, desperate and loud. “Until I can do the ritual. What’s a fortnight when I will have the rest of forever? The rest of my youth? And you won’t be here to stop me,” she sneers. Isak gasps for breath that isn’t coming to him. “No one will.”

Isak hears the castle doors burst open and the shout of his name, and he spares a thought for his mother, wishes he could tell her to leave. It doesn’t matter, however, because Sonja simply flicks her wrist towards the door and then she is silent, and Isak has the horrible realization that she might have just killed his mother as easily and cold heartedly as she’d killed William. 

The pressure around his throat tightens. His lungs are still fighting for breath. 

“You can have it, _please_ , you can have it,” Even shouts, and Isak can hear the suffering in his voice. He closes his eyes, begs the universe for mercy. He doesn’t want the last thing to hear be Even _suffering_. “I’ll give it to you willingly.”

Isak croaks.

“Please,” he cries, and Isak’s lungs begin to burn with his eyes. “Please, I don’t want it. Let him go. You can have it, Sonja — forever means nothing to me,” his voice is wavering. He’s afraid, yes, but Isak knows he’s mostly _sad_. He is sad for Isak, is willing to trade his own life for his. “It means nothing to me without him.”

And nothing to _me_ , Isak wants to shout. I don’t want this world without you.

Just when darkness begins to line the edges of his vision, Isak takes a breath.

He falls to the floor and he gasps and gasps, holds a hand to his throat as if to make sure the force has gone. His suffering is audible, embarrassingly so, but his lungs aren’t burning any longer and the tears that had welled up in his eyes start to fall, escaping the pain they’d been harboring before. His hands and the rest of his body is shaking uncontrollably, and he looks up to find Sonja.

“No,” he rasps, voice still not completely with him. “No, don’t—” Don’t do it. Kill me first. Kill me first.

Sonja is staring off into the distance, like she’s not even aware Isak is still in the room, and for a second she looks years and years older than what she used to: wrinkles lining at her face, hair greying at the sides. She looks tired. She looks lonely.

Without saying a word, she snaps her fingers. Isak hears the buckle of something, and then—

“Go,” she demands, and Isak notices that Even is scrambling off the table, free of his restraints. “I wish to never see you again.”

Even runs towards Isak and holds his face in his hands. Isak is still stuttering for breath, and Even seems to look every bit of him over with his eyes and his hands. “Are you okay, are you—”

Weakly, Isak manages to raise a hand to Even’s shoulder and squeeze. Words still feel difficult, but he can nod, and so, he does.

Even presses his forehead against Isak’s. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Isak frowns. “What—” he clears his throat, takes a deep breath. “You don’t apologize for things—”

“This was absolutely my fault, Isak.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” he says, voice still scratchy, but with a hint of amusement. “It—”

“I said _go_!” Sonja shrieks, and the fact that they’ve had to be told twice does not bode well, not to Isak. Even helps Isak up as best he can, and Isak leans most of his weight against him. It’s reminiscent of the way Isak had to drag Even away from Sonja the first time, except this time he feels absolutely fucking useless. 

Even turns to Sonja, and damn him, he hesitates. Isak wants to tell him they should be _running_ — or, in Isak’s state, at the very least walking as quickly as they possibly can — but Even speaks before Isak is able to complain.

“Thank you,” Even says, and he sounds genuinely grateful. “I don’t know — whatever — for you to do this,” he says. “It’s truly selfless.”

Sonja meets Even’s gaze. If he could, Isak would hold his breath. 

(As it stands, he’s probably not gonna do that again for a while.)

“You’ll have to watch him die,” she says to Even, and Isak blinks. “Not today, but one day he will grow old, and you will not. And so will everyone you’ve ever loved. And then you’ll have wished,” she smirks, but it’s not cruel: it almost looks melancholy. “You’ll have wished to have given your heart.”

Even glances at Isak, then back at Sonja. “Maybe,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

Sonja looks away. “Leave.”

Third time’s the charm, Isak supposes. Even helps Isak down the stairs. His weight is probably more than Even’s, but the star makes a valiant effort, and they don’t topple over until at around the bottom steps, where they seem to finally give into the force of gravity working against them.

Here, he’s helped by another weight beside him. He looks over and—

“ _Mom_ ,” he breathes, eyes wet. 

His mom has a pretty solid bruise lining the bottom of her eye, and there’s some dried blood lining the side of her face, but she’s _alive_ , and for all intents and purposes, she looks a lot less worse for wear than Isak feels. 

He can hear Even’s breath hitch beside him. “Mom?”

Isak looks at Even, smiling. “Yeah.”

\--

His mother helps them out of the castle and leads them to a hidden clearing near the trees, where they can find themselves at a comfortable enough distance from Sonja and what could be a changed mind at any moment.

Even is helping Isak’s mother clean his wounds, and Isak’s eyes are closed as he concentrates on his breathing. The breaths are finally coming in evenly once more, quieter. His lungs no longer feel as desperate for air as they had before. 

He lets them chat, Even and his mother. They talk about the witch that had kept his mother in captivity since she was young, how she’d only wanted to feel powerful by chaining a Princess to her. They talk about how she met Isak’s father, and the softness in her voice when she talks about his father — well, it’s the same softness in Isak’s father’s voice when he talks about _her_ , and it’d seem strange, that a love could last this long when it culminated for such a short amount of time, but then Even offers something to the conversation and his heart somersaults and he thinks, maybe not so strange.

Even tells her about how he fell from the sky, then pauses. “Oh,” he says, and Isak opens his eyes at his tone. He raises an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

Even reaches into his coat pocket and removes the amulet from inside it. Isak chuckles.

“Oh. Right.”

“It’s what that man was there for, wasn’t it?”

Isak nods. “Christoffer’s brother. Just as charming as him, as you’d imagine.”

Even chuckles. “I wonder what to do with it.”

Isak shrugs. “Chuck it in the river. All the princes are dead, now.”

Even frowns. “Stormhold needs a leader, doesn’t it?”

“Not _our_ problem. We’ll be pirates.”

Even grins widely. “You want to be _pirates_?”

“I can’t take you back to Oslo,” he explains, sitting up straighter. “It — I came back. I was so scared—”

“I know,” Even interrupts. His mother has moved towards the edge of the river, cleaning the rags, allowing them their moment. “Your mother — she’s the one who stopped me. Told me what would happen if I crossed the wall.” He purses his lips. “I can’t imagine a world in which magic doesn’t exist. In which — _I_ wouldn’t exist.”

Isak reaches out to caress Even’s face softly. He leans into the touch tenderly. “Neither can I.”

Even’s smile is soft. He leans forward and his kiss is just as soft, if not more so. Isak revels in the feeling. His breath, after coming back, leaves him just as easily, but a lot more pleasantly, as he kisses Even.

Isak’s mother clears her throat somewhere in the distance, and they quickly pull apart. Isak blushes a deep red, and Even’s complexion matches his own, but his mother looks more amused than offended.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “Just one more round of cleaning, I promise.”

Isak nods and Even sits back on the ball of his feet. His mother kneels in front of him and starts dabbing at the wounds on his stomach.

Even plays with the amulet. “I’ll throw it in the river, then.”

Isak grins cheekily. “Can I do it?” he asks. “I have a lot of pent up anger for those bastards.”

Even rolls his eyes, but the chuckle he breathes out is effortless. “Yes,” he says, and when Isak holds out his palm for the amulet, Even drops it carefully into his hand.

His mother glances over at the movement, then leans back in what looks like surprise. “Where—”

Before she can finish her question, Isak feels the amulet warm in his hand.

It’s an incredible sight to behold, really. It’d be more impactful to him, the way the ruby slowly begins to glow and fill in the warm, red color of the stone, as if reacting to Isak’s touch. It’s be a lot more impressive if he wasn’t absolutely fucking _perplexed_.

“What—” He looks at Even, who looks just as shocked as Isak. “What—”

His mother lets out a shaky breath beside him. “The last male heir of Stormhold,” she whispers, and Isak meets her watery gaze.

His mother was a Princess, he realizes. He’d simply assumed she was a Princess from an outlying kingdom, or something, but—

She was the lost Princess, the sister Christoffer had mentioned offhandedly. She was _Stormhold’s_ Princess, which made him—

“Well,” Even clears his throat. “I don’t think we can be pirates now.”

Isak laughs and laughs and laughs.


	10. epilogue

It goes like this, in the end:

Isak doesn’t want to be King. Says his mother has the right to the throne, not him. His mother explains that it is customary for a male heir to take the throne, and he says, “who’s going to stop me? The King?”

She reunites with Isak’s father. He’s never seen his father look so _young_ as when he looks at his mother again. They look at each other for a long time, as if communicating silently, until his mother presses his forehead against his father’s and whispers something to him. Then they kiss, and Isak has to turn away, because as much as he can appreciate love now, it doesn’t mean that’s something he wants to _see_. He’s still their _son_ , after all, and he got enough of a peek at that process through his dad’s story, thanks very much.

They wed in a large, beautiful royal wedding. They invite Isak’s very best friends from Oslo — Jonas, Mahdi and Magnus — and it doesn’t take them very long to assimilate to Stormhold. They, too, cannot go back to the mundane life of their world, and so they visit and visit and visit until they eventually move, finding lives here that they couldn’t have back home.

Isak and Even adventure with Sana and her crew for a few years. With his mother and father ruling over Stormhold, they do get to be pirates for a while. They meet all sorts of people, see all kinds of places, venture to different kingdoms. They try different foods and immerse themselves in different cultures and Even’s eyes are always the brightest when he listens to the music and the stories, up close like he’s never heard them before.

Even never does lose his sense of wonder.

When they finally settle back in Stormhold, Isak nervously and clumsily asks for Even’s hand in marriage, to which Even’s reply is him knocking Isak over in an embrace and a string of kisses in between the word “yes” over and over and over. Isak’s pretty sure neither of them stop grinning for weeks after.

(His engagement ring is a simple, silver band, because Isak doesn’t have to make any excuses this time — as long as it’s him, and it’s Even, everything is perfect and the time is always right.)

By the time they marry, his parents are older in years, and it starts to show in the wrinkles around their eyes, the greying of their hair. Their eyes are as bright and young as ever, however, and as wedding gift, his mother pulls them aside into a private chamber, leaving the party — in which he can hear Magnus bellowing loudly along to a song with Vilde, the two of them now very best friends — behind for a second. She offers the gift to Even, pointedly so, and Even opens the small wrapped box so gingerly Isak almost snaps at him to get on with it with both impatience and excitement.

Inside is—

“A Babylon candle,” Even breathes, and he looks up at Isak’s mother in wonder.

She smiles. “They are rare, I know,” she says. She glances at Isak, whose age is beginning to show in his physical appearance, as well. The weary features don’t show in Even as prominently — most likely never will. They don’t mention the obvious, but they all know it: the candle is for later, when there is nothing here anymore to tether Even to the ground. “Not a hard find for a Queen, though, it seems.”

Even’s eyes are tearing. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Isak’s mother smiles as she pulls both of them in for an embrace.

“Take care of your time,” she whispers.

And they do.

His parents pass a couple of years later, one after the other, as if they couldn’t bear to be without each other, even in death. The mourning period extends by weeks, because Isak doesn’t know what to do with himself. Or he wouldn’t, if it weren’t for Even’s constant presence, kind and understanding, guiding him through his grief. Eventually, the mourning period ends, and he is crowned King of Stormhold with Even by his side, as he is always by his side.

(Emma is invited to the coronation. She comes with a small child in hand, and she seems genuinely, truly happy. Isak is happy for her.)

When the coronation is over, their ruling over Stormhold starts, and it’s a learning curve for Isak, but it is the age of a new era.

And the years will pass, and they will adopt six orphaned children, who are taught not to fight for the throne, but instead love each other and appreciate each other as family. Their eldest daughter will be first in line for the throne, but will bow out of the honor when she falls in love with a merchant from across the wall and choose to live with him there for as long as their lives will allow it. She’ll leave the throne, then, to their eldest son, who will rule prosperously and justly for years and years after Isak’s stepped down.

They will have many grandchildren, and they will see many happy years as Stormhold prospers, as it grows. They will see their grandchildren take their first steps, cry into their shoulders when they believe their parents are being unjust, see their own hearts expand every time another member is added to their family.

And when the time comes, Isak will say goodbye to his children and his grandchildren, and he will urge them not to cry for a silly old man like him. They will say goodbye to Even, and cry for him as well, knowing this is the last they’ll see of him, too. They will leave them alone to their room, tears in their eyes, ready to mourn the two most important people in all of their lives. 

Isak and Even will not die. For he who holds the heart of a star will live forever, and Even gave his heart to Isak willingly, a very long time ago.

“Close your eyes, and think of home,” Even will whisper to Isak, forehead pressed to his, fingers laced with his, the Babylon candle dim in comparison to Even’s shine. 

And Isak will bring his hand to the side of Even’s face, will kiss his lips. Then he will close his eyes, and think of Even.

And they’ll find their way to the sky, and they’ll gaze downward for the rest of eternity, gaze at all of the worlds and all of the people making their choices, and they will forever continue to live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hi. fancy meeting you here. you made it, huh? thanks for sticking around. i love you lots for it.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this big fantasy cheese-fest. i hope you always make your own choices. i hope you know that nothing is stronger in this world that the feeling of love and wonder, and i hope you never lose either.
> 
> you can find me the most active on [twitter](https://twitter.com/juilawicker). i’ll be announcing a new original endeavor soon that i hope you can be a part of. 
> 
> my heart is full of love for all of you. keep your head up. you’ve got this. 
> 
> with all of the love of all the worlds beyond all the walls that i can muster,  
> -ceecee


End file.
